In the Empire's Shadow
by Lieutenant Dan
Summary: COMPLETE. Post ESB: Vader searches the galaxy for answers about his family. Luke leads the Rogues and tries to avoid his questions. Lando pursues the frozen Han, but Boba Fett viciously protects his bounty. And Mara Jade is hunting Skywalker
1. Chapter 1

I.

A life-sized hologram of Darth Vader kneeled before the Emperor's throne in the Imperial Palace. He waited for his master's response. His thunderous respiration was the only sound in the vast chamber.

"I am disappointed, Lord Vader."

"As am I, my master."

"Young Skywalker has escaped and the rebels are undoubtedly regrouping. What do you propose we do now?"

Vader lifted his head slightly to look upon the Emperor. "Skywalker may be beyond my grasp at the moment, but I was able to tell him the truth of his heritage."

"Go on," the Emperor commanded.

"The knowledge will gnaw at him. Denial will turn to confusion. Confusion will become anger. He will want answers to his questions. And with Obi Wan gone, there is only one place to go for answers."

"Perhaps," the Emperor answered. "You believe you have planted a seed, then, Lord Vader?"

"Yes, master."

"Then we will wait for it to blossom. I have another task for you."

Vader's head came up fully so that his black mask faced the Emperor. "Should I not continue to pursue Skywalker?"

"I have not forgotten your failure at Hoth to crush the rebellion, nor your failure at Bespin to capture your son." The Emperor leaned forward. "If you now question the commands of your master as well, then I may find I have no need of your services."

Vader's gaze dropped back down to the deck. "Forgive me, my master. I await your command."

The Emperor eased back into his throne. "Good. I am convinced that Skywalker could not have progressed as far as he has without more help than a few sessions with the late Master Kenobi—lessons which are now several years past." He arose and walked over to the kneeling image of servant. "In your purge of the traitorous Jedi, one noteworthy master went unaccounted for. It is time to settle accounts."

"Yes, master."

"Begin a new search for Yoda. Work alone. And do not rest until he is found and destroyed."

"I will do so at once," Vader answered.

"How many admirals did we go through at Hoth?"

"Ozzel failed. I have promoted Piett to command the flagship."

"Very well. Order him to continue pursuit of the rebels. Let him handle all operations while you investigate the whereabouts of my very old, very small Jedi friend." The Emperor chuckled. He waived a dismissive hand and the image of Vader faded. He looked to the crimson-cloaked royal guards flanking the chamber's entrance. "Show her in," he commanded.

II.

Lando Calrissian and Chewbacca huddled over a data pad at the _Millennium Falcon's_ gaming table.

"Fact is, even if _Slave I_ was stripped down to a flying gas canister, there's no way Fett can make it from Bespin to Tatooine without stopping to refuel at least twice."

Chewie gestured at the star map on the data pad and growled out a few possibilities. Lando hadn't been around a Wookiee in years, and he furrowed his brow as he struggled to translate. A moment later he had it.

"Well he definitely won't stop at Sullust. Too much sympathy for the Rebellion. Sluis Van is the only other major spaceport, so we should probably start there." Chewie disagreed. He relayed a story Han had told him about Boba Fett putting a concussion missile through the view port of a control tower that wouldn't grant him landing clearance. The Sluissi authorities had had _Slave I_ on the shoot-on-sight list ever since.

"I hadn't heard that one. Guess he'll give Sluis Van a miss too, then. Let's see what that leaves us." Lando called up a list of all the smaller planets and spaceports in the vicinity and started weighing their pros and cons as only a fringe spacer could.

He looked up at Chewie and smiled. "I think I got him."

Princess Leia Organa stood at the observation window of the surgery ward. Inside, Luke Skywalker lay unconscious on a bio-bed. A Two-One-Bee medical droid stood with its back to Leia, and worked on reconstructing the nerves severed when Luke lost his right hand. Its body blocked Leia's view of the wound, which was undoubtedly a good thing. The human chief medical officer looked on, giving occasional instructions to the droid.

"Princess?"

She didn't look away from the window. "Hello, Lando."

"I wanted to tell you that Chewie and I have a start point. We think Fett will stop to refuel at Tal Chora."

"Never heard of it." Leia's voice was devoid of emotion.

"It's an old asteroid mining complex that was turned into a gambling resort. It never took off, and now it's a haven for fringe types and scoundrels like myself." He put on his best smile and turned expectantly to Leia.

No reaction.

"Heading him off is a long shot, but it's on our way."

"The long shot estimate is optimistic. Go straight to Tatooine and begin infiltration of the palace like we discussed."

Lando bristled a bit, bit kept his sabaac face. He had been the top man at Cloud City for a long time, and it had been even longer since someone told him what to do and how to do it. At least until Vader had descended on him. But he knew that the princess had been through a lot, and obviously she couldn't quite conjure her finely tuned social graces.

He let out a long breath. "Leia, I can't just show up at the gate with a good blaster or climb in though a window. I need to create an identity that will get me hired by Jabba.

"We have those resources here."

"I need better. I need a forgery that will fool a forger."

"Who then?"

"Do you remember Lobot?"

Leia's eyes narrowed. "You mean your aide? The one with the implant?

"He's a card counter. One hell of a shark. If he got off Cloud City, he'd hit Tal Chora to get a stake together to make a new start somewhere else. And nobody makes IDs like he can."

The Two-One-Bee retracted it's surgical arm and used its pincer hand to pull the white sheet back over Luke. The surgery was complete. Leia looked at his face and noticed that while his brow was slightly furrowed, his expression otherwise indicated that he was at peace. It almost looked as though he were in deep contemplation about something.

"Can the _Falcon_ outrun _Slave I_?" Leia asked.

Lando sighed. "I don't know. The hyperdrive on the _Falcon_ is the fastest I've ever heard of. But Boba Fett is a guy that spends every minute of every day working on more efficient ways to kill people. With all the bounties he takes down in a year, there's no way to know what modifications he could have made to his ship."

Leia rubbed her temples. "Luke should wake up soon. I want to talk it over with him. He should have a say in this."

"Leia, every minute we spend—

"We wait for Luke."

III.

Boba Fett stood over the floating slab of carbonite that contained one Captain Han Solo. The muted overhead lights in _Slave I's_ cargo hold cast a green tinge over the statuesque form, making it seem as though the smuggler was carved out of jadestone.

Han Solo. The highest bounty ever offered, not counting the Butcher of Montellian Serat. Ten million credits. Imperial.

Fett bent down so that his visor was almost touching Solo's frozen countenance. "I beat you, smuggler. I just wish I hadn't been forced to allow Vader's involvement. Men like us should be allowed to face off one-on-one. No Wookiees, no Sith lords, no rebellions or empires. Two men. Two ships." Fett straightened up. "But the galaxy had other plans for you, and now you're an ice cube that I'll exchange for the biggest payday in my life." He slapped the door release and stepped out into the main hold. He turned and looked back at Solo before sealing him in.

"It's going to be damn boring without you." The door slid shut.

Fett made his way back to the cockpit and sat down at the controls. The fuel gauge showed he'd already run down half his tank. He turned his chair to face the communications console and keyed a brief message to be broadcast over the holonet under heavy encryption.

_My love, meet me at The Mistress of Staves in two days._

IV.

A young woman now bowed before the Emperor in nearly the exact some spot Vader's image had moments before.

"I am yours to command, master."

She wore a form-fitting grey jumpsuit with a dark green jacket that hit at the hip. A gunmetal lightsaber hung from the left side of her belt. Her chin length red-gold hair hung to either side of her face as she knelt. Her green eyes, brilliant in every sense, were focused on the marble floor.

"Welcome home, my dear. You were successful?"

"I delivered your message, master."

The Emperor smiled. "And there was no room for misinterpretation?"

"No, master. Although he was unable to make any reply."

He chuckled outright. "I should think not. Rise, child."

Mara Jade stood with perfect grace and took position near the throne. She looked out of the panoramic window at the Imperial Center skyline. The sun was setting and she could see the running lights of ships that passed through the shadows cast by the myriad skyscrapers.

The Emperor spoke. "Have you heard the saying, 'If you cannot defeat them, join them'?"

"I've heard it."

"Do you agree with it?"

"Absolutely not," she answered.

"Nor do I. It implies weak will, and a weaker mind. But I have come to believe in a variation of that flawed philosophy: If you cannot defeat them, convince them to join _you_."

Mara turned to look into the Emperor's pale yellow eyes. He watched her intently. She gave him a small smile and nodded.

"I am certain you know of the Luke Skywalker situation," he said.

"Yes, master."

"Do you have thoughts on the matter?"

"Yes, master."

"Speak your mind."

"The Empire has committed significant resources to capturing him. It's been four years since Yavin and we still don't have him. At the same time, the Empire continues to thrive and the Rebellion in is retreat."

"And what does that lead you to conclude?"

"I respectfully submit that Lord Vader is driven beyond reason in this matter, and that the operation is totally disproportionate to the threat that Skywalker poses."

The Emperor chuckled again. "Lord Vader is driven quite well beyond reason, there can be no doubt of that." His smile faded instantly. His eyes bored into Mara's. "But know this. The Skywalker problem _cannot_ be overestimated. The resurgence of the Jedi could destroy everything we have built. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master."

The Emperor's face softened. "Good. Good." He stood up and made his way to stand alongside Mara and looked out at the horizon. "You recall my little saying. I have Lord Vader working on the joining portion. He will attempt to recruit Skywalker from the twisted rebellion to the side of order and justice."

"Yes, master."

He turned to face her. "I want you to work on the defeating portion."

Mara now turned to face him.

"Kill him," he said. "Kill Luke Skywalker."

"May I ask, my master, what of Lord Vader?"

"Lord Vader has his own mission to see to. One that may carry him well away from Skywalker. Or perhaps right to him. I any event, I expect you carry out your mission in full. If Vader interferes… I leave the details to you."

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

I.

Luke Skywalker awoke to find a shimmering Obi Wan Kenobi sitting on the edge of his bed. He sat in a slightly hunched over position with his hands in his lap. He looked morose.

_Feeling guilty, Ben?_

Luke realized at that moment that his eyes were still shut, and when he opened them, he saw the princess sitting there, almost exactly the way his old mentor had been.

"Leia," he said hoarsely.

Her head came up and she moved to the head of the bio-bed. She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him around the neck. He held her with his left arm only.

"Does it hurt?" she asked.

"No, but it feels strange." He looked at his new right hand and flexed his fingers.

"The doctor said the med droid would have to run you through some nerve mapping once you were awake. Then it should feel completely normal."

Luke nodded. He took Leia's hand in his. "What's the plan for Han?"

Leia sighed sharply. She stood up and started pacing. "Lando wants to track the bounty hunter's ship and jump him when he's at port refueling. Chewie seems willing to do anything as long as he's in the _Falcon_ and burning hard towards Han."

"What about you?"

Leia's eyes came alive in a way that made the back of Luke's neck tingle unpleasantly. "I still don't trust that man. He gave us to Vader on a platter and then snatched us right back and now he's trying to run this mission with almost no Alliance involvement—

"Leia—

"_He let them do it!_ He watched them turn the man I love—

She stopped suddenly and looked at Luke. He had an odd look in his eyes.

"Luke, I'm sorry. I… I just—

"It's great. Really." His eyes welled up just slightly, but there was no jealously or loss there. "We're going to get you two your chance. I promise."

Leia ran her hands through her hair and exhaled. "I know." She walked to the transparisteel window and looked out into space. "What do you think we should do?"

Luke blinked and the emotions he showed a moment before seemed to evaporate. He looked straight ahead with a focus and serenity Leia hadn't seen before.

"Luke?"

"Bring Lando to speak with me. I'll see where he stands."

Leia watched him closely.

"Where were you the week between Hoth and Cloud City?"

II.

Darth Vader sat in the cross-legged meditation position he had learned in another lifetime. His isolation pod was clamped tight, and the small space inside was pitch black, save for one blinking green light to indicate the readiness of the computer. His helmet was suspended a meter above his naked head. He breathed in wheezes, and when he spoke, his voice was hollow and raspy.

"Last known location of Jedi Master Yoda."

LAST KNOWN LOCATION OF JEDI MASTER YODA WAS THE SENATE CHAMBER ON IMPERIAL CENTER, DURING HIS FAILED ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT AGAINST SUPREME CHANCELLOR PALPATINE.

"Intelligence estimate of his movements following the attack."

IMPERIAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE DID NOT HAVE SUFFICIENT EVIDENCE DURING THAT PERIOD TO FORM AN ESTIMATE.

"And now?"

I.S.S. ESTIMATES THAT JEDI MASTER YODA ESCAPED IMPERIAL CENTER ONBOARD CORELLIAN CORVETTE _TANTIVE IV_, CONSULAR VESSEL, ALDERAAN REGISTRY—

"Stop," Vader ordered. "The Organa's ship?"

AFFIRMATIVE.

"How did Intelligence reach this conclusion?"

AFTER THE ARREST OF SENATOR PRINCESS LEIA ORGANA FOR TREASON APPROXIMATELY FOUR YEARS AGO, CONSULAR VESSEL _TANTIVE IV_ WAS LISTED AS A REBEL VESSEL RETROACTIVE TO ITS ORIGINAL PURCHASE BY THE ROYAL HOUSE OF ALDERAAN. CROSS-REFERENCING SHOWED THAT THE _TANTIVE IV_ DEPARTED FROM IMPERIAL CENTER ONLY FORTY-SIX MINUTES AFTER JEDI MASTER YODA ESCAPED AUTHORITIES AT THE SENATE CHAMBER.

"Is there a hyperspace trajectory for the _Tantive IV's_ departure on file?"

AFFIRMATIVE.

"Display it."

The concave walls of Vader's isolation pod lit up as a star map. A red line showed the trajectory of Organa's ship from Imperial Center to the edge of the galaxy. The line cut through dozens of systems before terminating at the outer rim.

Vader began inquiring about each of those systems, one at a time.

III.

Mara Jade sat at a computer station in the Royal Archives in the Imperial Palace. The facility was the Emperor's private library, and it was kept current with all published documents, as well as all secret ones, provided one had the access codes.

"Recognize Jade, Corvis, Echo, Six."

ACCESS GRANTED.

"Play the most recent I.S.S. estimate on subject Luke Skywalker of the Rebel Alliance.

SKYWALKER, COMMANDER LUKE. BIRTHPLACE, UNKNOWN. DATE OF BIRTH, UNKNOWN. EARLIEST DATA PLACES SKYWALKER ON TATOOINE—

"Skip biographical data and play military record."

CURRENT ASSIGNMENT, COMMANDER OF REBEL ALLIANCE STARFIGHTER GROUP ROGUE SQUADRON—

"Stop. Display a standard galactic map on screen and superimpose all known or suspected Rogue Squadron operations and their dates on the systems where they occurred. Connect each data tag with a red line starting with the first recorded operation and ending with the last."

The computer complied almost instantly. There was a veritable sea of data tags describing various Rogue Squadron activities dating back to just after Yavin. The red line crisscrossed all over the map, making it virtually impossible to read.

"Eliminate all data tags except for offensive operations conducted by Rogue Squadron." It was a given that a squadron would defend itself when attacked. Mara wanted to know where Skywalker chose to go when _he_ attacked.

At least a third of the data tags disappeared, and she began to study the remaining ones. Skywalker had lead scores of attacks against the Empire and its assets over the last four years. From what she could see, roughly half of Rogue Squadron operations were hit and fade attacks on strategic Imperial targets, and the other half were simple supply theft. Weapons, materiel, fuel, food stocks, and medical supplies.

"Display the most recent operations involving theft for each supply category."

The computer complied. Mara read the list and smiled.

The Rogues had not hijacked a fuel tanker in months. A fleet on the run needed fuel.

That would be their next move.

IV.

A dark featured man with close-cropped hair and a neatly trimmed beard sat at a small table. He was in the rear corner of a balcony overlooking a casino. As he watched the action below, he was aware of someone approaching. A lithe woman tucked into the seat across from him.

"You look beautiful," he said.

The woman leaned across the table and gave him a brief, but passionate kiss.

"I love the beard," she said. Her voice had a metallic purr common amongst the Ubese. Aside from some raised ridges along her throat, she appeared very similar to humans. "It's so unregimented of you, though."

He gave a small smile and surreptitiously slid his hold out blaster back into its ankle holster . "It's this played out face I'm stuck with. Didn't want to look like some stormtrooper deserter or something. Next thing you know some fool who lost a third cousin at Yavin is accusing me of dereliction while I'm waiting for drinks at the bar."

She laughed. "I'm sure you could handle such a fool. I'm just grateful you didn't come in your helmet."

"Not this time, but I am working. It's work that brings me here." She looked hurt. He took her hand in his. "But just so we're clear, seeing you is the best fringe benefit of all time. I need your help."

"As long as we're enjoying fringe benefits, would my help involve a cut?"

"Always."

"Who's the mark?"

"I've already bagged him. It's keeping him that concerns me."

She looked at him intently. Her eyes asked the question.

He cupped a hand around his chin so that no one across the room could see his lips. He mouthed one silent word.

She spilled her drink.

V.

"Leia tells me you're a gambler."

Lando sat in a chair next to Luke's bio-bed. He grinned. "The term gambler defines me. I've bucked the odds all my life. And I've enjoyed my share of successes."

Luke smiled back. "And the house?"

"Some people say the house always wins." Lando's smile faded and he looked out of the view port. "I don't say that. But it definitely wins sometimes."

"You're thinking of Cloud City."

"Yeah. A lot of work lost. I'll miss it."

"Han taught me Sabaac a couple of years back," Luke said.

"Sabaac is my game," Lando answered. "In my more reflective moments I've even called it my art."

"Han taught me that the most important part of Sabacc is knowing when hold and when to fold. Do you see it that way?"

Lando's grin returned. "Who do you think taught Han?"

Luke cocked his head towards the view port. "I think there's a modified YT-1300 tethered out there that says you taught him a little too well."

Lando laughed. "True enough, Commander."

Luke looked down at his artificial hand. "Leia told me about your plan to go after him."

"The princess doesn't seem entirely sold on it. Or me."

Luke nodded. "She has some reservations."

"And so now you're sizing me up. Trying to see if I'm an honorable man." Lando picked at some lint on the cuff of his shirt. It didn't take Jedi intuition for Luke to realize that this aversion of eye contact was to hide some measure of the shame in his eyes.

"I haven't a chance to thank you for saving my life back at Cloud City."

Lando nodded. "Chewie was flying. Leia was calling the shots. I just popped the moon roof. Just a guy on the team."

Luke looked at Lando for several long seconds. His stare gave Lando an odd balance of discomfort and true peace.

"You're an honorable man, Lando. I can feel that. But what I need to know is are you a responsible man. I need to know that if you get real close to Han, but your hand isn't strong enough, you'll walk—not get yourself and my friends killed in a stunt meant more to assuage your guilty conscience than to free a good man."

"You can trust me. I guarantee it."

"Good. Then let's get Leia and Chewie in here and hammer out the details."

_**To Be Continued...**_


	3. Chapter 3

**I.**

Darth Vader's TIE Advanced emerged from hyperspace and tore across the rocky surface of Polis Massa. The baron planetoid was constantly struck by meteorites, and the abandoned archeological outpost on its surface had been breached by the onslaught. On his first pass, Vader could see that the facility had long been exposed to open space.

TIE fighters were not designed to land on typical surfaces, but with the lack of gravity, Vader was able to ease the fighter down to the surface with maneuvering thrusters. A flipped switch on his control board magnetized the lower hull, and the ship clung to the ore within the rock. Vader likewise flipped a switch on his chest-mounted control box, switching his respirator into an isolated oxygen recycling mode. He unfastened his harness and popped the top hatch.

Vader floated straight up out of his fighter. His black cloak billowed around him and the starlight reflected off of his armor. Using the force, he controlled his ascent, and guided his body out towards the battered facility. In his left hand he carried a tool kit. In his right hand, he carried his lightsaber.

He reached the nearest wall of the outpost and ignited his saber. The signature hum of the weapon was strangely absent in the vacuum, but the blade bathed his surroundings in a crimson glow as he cut a porthole for himself. Upon completing the cut, he shoved the center inward, and the section of steel drifted gently into the dark interior. Vader followed, using his weapon as a torch light.

Before departing the _Executor_, Vader had studied the original design schematics of the Polis Massa outpost. Once he got his bearings, he guided his floating body down various corridors until he reached the central computer.

Main power had been knocked out at some point over the years, but Vader was prepared for that. He wedged the butt of his lightsaber between two mounted monitors so that he would have light to work by. He then turned himself into a horizontal position and pulled himself under a workstation.

In his tool kit, Vader had included a portable power supply. He connected it to the appropriate input on the underside of the desk. Nothing.

Floating on his back, he grabbed additional tool and popped an access panel. The problem was immediately apparent to him, and he set to work on repairing it.

Adrift on a long dead planetoid in the dark depths of space, in complete silence, Vader tinkered. It occurred to him that it had been years since he had performed such a task, rather than having some underling handle it for him. He reveled in it.

_Life's much simpler when you're fixing things._

The boyish voice had crept in from the back of his mind. He dimly remembered the wind and grit assailing his face as his pod racer ripped across the desert. He was trying to repair his engine in mid-flight—it had been sabotaged by… what was his name?

The early years of his first life could only be remembered with the clarity of a dream. When the computer system came to life, it was distraction enough to snatch the other line of thought from his mind without him even remembering it was there. He guided himself back in front of the workstation monitor, and began reviewing the logs.

The monitor prompted him to enter his search parameters. He keyed in "_Tantive IV_," "Corellian Corvette," and "Organa."

The computer searched.

**II.**

"Luke, we're ready for take off."

Luke raised his comlink to his mouth. "Good luck, Lando."

Calrissian's voice came back over the handset. "When we find Jabba the Hutt and that bounty hunter we'll contact you."

"I'll meet you at the rendezvous point on Tatooine."

"Princess, we'll find Han," Lando said with conviction. "I promise."

"Chewie, I'll be waiting for your signal," Luke said. "Take care, you two. And may the force be with you."

Chewie growled out a gruesome yet eloquent description of what he was going to do to Jabba, Fett, and anyone else who got in their way. Amidst all her doubts and conflicting emotions, Leia couldn't help but smile.

Luke thumbed off the comlink and turned his attention back to the nerve mapping of his new hand. Supposedly they were almost done. They had exposed him to heat, cold, liquid, solid—what was left? The Two-One-Bee med droid turned back around from its tray with a needle.

_Oh. Great._

The droid poked his palm in strategic locations. "Ow!"

It retracted the needle and shut the access panel on Luke's wrist. "Nerve mapping complete," it stated. Luke hopped off of the bio-bed and joined Leia, Artoo, and Threepio at the view port. The _Falcon_ had just detached itself from the medical frigate's underbelly and was heading off.

Luke put an arm around Leia. "It'll be all right," he said.

She nodded but didn't say anything.

The _Falcon_ made her jump into hyperspace. Artoo warbled.

"Oh, dear," Threepio said. "Artoo predicts their chances of—

Luke turned around and shook his head emphatically.

"Yes, well… never mind."

The quartet of humans and droids stared out at the stars for several minutes in silence. Their reverie was finally interrupted when the door chime sounded. "Come in," Luke said.

Wedge Antilles entered the room. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Am I intruding, Commander?"

Luke smiled back. "Not at all, Wedge. Come on in and speak freely for heaven's sake." Wedge walked over and Luke gave him a back slapping hug.

"I'm really glad to see you, Luke—and you, your highness," he added, giving a small, formal bow to Leia. He turned back to Luke. "General Rieekan wants to see you when you're well enough." Wedge smiled. "Smells like a mission."

**III.**

Onboard the Imperial Star Destroyer _Devastator_, Captain Devar stepped into his cabin after serving two full shifts on the bridge. The door slid shut behind him and he reached for the light switch.

A hand grabbed his wrist while another one yanked his sidearm out of its holster. A foot planted squarely on his back shoved him a few meters into the room. The lights came on at that moment and the Captain spun around, fists raised in combat position.

"Security access code nine, delta, Borleias, red," Mara said quickly. The Captain did not relax his stance, but now looked her over intensely, as if trying to figure out what exactly this young woman was.

"I'm a special operative from Imperial Center. I want as few people as possible to know who I am and why I'm here."

"No security code warrants attacking a fleet captain," he said.

Mara reached into her belt and produced a rank cylinder. "Run that."

Devar lowered his fists and took the cylinder. He inserted it into a computer station and the screen lit up. His jaw dropped.

"I apologize for the circumstances of our meeting, Captain, but as you can see, I could deck a Grand Admiral if it served my purposes and continue on my way." She handed him back his blaster butt first. "Your Emperor has a special assignment for you."

Devar took the blaster and pushed it back into its holster. "I proudly serve the Emperor. Next time just ask. What's the mission?"

"Are you familiar with the Rebel X-Wing group Rogue Squadron?"

"I've heard of them. They're the elite squadron. Rebels who can read."

"It's been decided that their attacks against the Empire must be stopped. We've determined that their next move will be to raid Imperial fuel supplies. It will be their last move."

"What do you need from the _Devastator_?"

"We have to attract their attention with a tempting prize. I want you to send a communiqué to all tanker captains along this trade route that due to increased Imperial operations, the number of tankers per convoy will double. Furthermore, Imperial escort ships will remain in the same numbers as before, or in some cases, may be reduced."

Devar nodded. "So more fuel ships guarded by less fighters. Should work. But what's the hammer?"

"I want one tanker converted to hold a full wing of TIE fighters. I'll command that ship. We'll jump the Rogues and signal the _Devastator_. On the off chance that any rebels are left when you arrive, you'll help clean up."

"It's simple, like most good plans," Devar said. "I'll make preparations immediately." He smiled without humor. "What should I call you, madam operative?"

"Like you said, let's keep it simple. Call me Agent One."

**IV.**

Lando Calrissian eased back the hyperdrive lever and the _Millennium Falcon_ dropped into normal space. Directly ahead was the Tal Chora complex, silhouetted against the chaotic backdrop of the Wilderness Nebula.

Tal Chora was a series of enormous mined out asteroids that were connected to each other by massive steel tubes. Once a starship entered the complex, it could move from asteroid to asteroid through the tunnels without having to exit into space. Each hollowed-out asteroid contained hotels, casinos, and restaurants, all catering to various niches of shady clientele.

"Okay, Chewie, let's head for Asteroid Six. The casino Lobot used to talk about is there."

Chewbacca growled an acknowledgement and keyed in a request for a landing berth. Control gave them a slot and Lando maneuvered the _Falcon_ into a large portal on the surface of Asteroid Seven—Six did not have an exterior portal, and could only be accessed via tunnel.

The inside of the asteroid was all open space in the center, but nestled into the stone walls were a plethora of metal buildings, many of which advertised themselves with garish neon lighting. Lando flew past all of them and headed for the mouth of the tunnel on the far wall. The _Falcon_ entered it and cruised through the well lit passage, keeping right as various craft passed them on the left. After several seconds, they emerged into the vast cavern of Asteroid Six.

Built into the walls of this particular asteroid were luxurious marble structures with accents of polished chrome and stained glass. Each building had its own grand foyer complete with costumed door men and attendants. There were absolutely no neon signs.

"Now this is more my scene. A man could gamble in this kind of environment."

Chewie growled sharply.

"Come on, buddy—I remember why we're here. Besides, I'd never bet with another man's ship. His money, maybe. But never his ship. I have a code."

The Wookiee grumbled to himself on that last bit, and then pointed through the canopy at their berth on the docking ring.

"I got it. Standby on the starboard landing claw."

The docking ring was a steel collar that ran around the interior walls of the asteroid. At regular intervals there were universal-fit airlocks where any ship could pull up and form a seal. The collar projected a null-gravity field to keep the ship floating parallel to it. Lando eased the _Falcon_ into place with a gentle thud.

"I had the sensors searching for a _Firespray_-class ship the whole way over. No hits—but Fett will have changed his transponder to dodge our scans. So let's keep our eyes peeled while we're out and about."

Chewie agreed.

A few minutes later, a dapper playboy in a cloak and a shaggy Wookiee in a bandolier walked the promenade side by side, heading towards Lobot's gambling palace of choice.

It was called The Mistress of Staves.

**V.**

"The plan's simple," Boba Fett said to his female companion. "I've already arranged the transfer. We leave here, head straight for the ships and meet on Veraant in two days to refuel. Then straight to Tatooine."

"And I'm getting my usual ten percent?" she asked.

Fett smiled from across the table, looking rakish with the beard. "That's right, Syrella. A million credits." He reached under the table and stroked her leg. "There's no one else I'd rather work with. No one I'd rather share with."

She leaned across the table. "Do you trust me, Boba?"

"Completely."

"Then why not let me take the cargo," she asked. "And you could watch my back for a change?"

He shook his head. "He stays with me. And we'll watch each other's back."

Her smile shifted to a more curious expression and she looked over Fett's shoulder at the gamblers on the gaming floor below. "Look down there, my love," she purred. "That Wookiee's pelt would make a fine addition to your collection."

Fett followed her glance.

He nearly knocked over his chair.

The Wookiee was standing with Lando Calrissian, recently deposed administrator of Cloud City, and recent collaborator with the rebellion.

That made the Wookiee Chewbacca, Solo's smuggling partner. Chewbacca, who had a life debt to Solo.

And that meant they were here to kill him, and liberate his bounty.

"Boba?" she asked.

He calmed himself. He wasn't in his armor. No one besides Syrella knew his face. They might be tailing him closely, but they would never know how close until it was too late.

He told her the situation. Her surprise lasted two seconds. Then she was open for business. From somewhere on her person she produced a wicked looking blaster pistol. She laid it on the table and draped her cloth napkin over it.

Fett stood up and grabbed two satchels he'd had under the table. As he walked past her he whispered quickly in her ear. "Don't let them leave. I'll be back in one minute. When you see me coming, you make for the docking ring and take off. I'll be right behind you."

"But I can drop them right now—

"No. They're good and you don't have your gear. Trust me."

"I love you," she said.

"Me too." He walked off.

Syrella watched the human in the cape and Solo's Wookiee talk to a bald man with a cybernetic implant around the back of his head. The cape was getting frustrated with the cyborg. The cape kept asking questions and the cyborg never spoke. He just kept showing the cape a data pad. As she observed the scene below, she heard gasps and chairs scraping the floor from behind her.

Just then, the Wookiee looked upwards, just past Syrella, and growled viciously. The cape and the cyborg looked up in tandem. She spun away from the table and walked away from the balcony edge, her shoulder brushing Fett's Mandalorian armor as he approached the railing, wrist blaster aimed at the trio below.

As she made for the exit with most of the other patrons, she heard all hell break lose from behind.

**_To Be Continued..._**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian leaned against the bar with Chewbacca at his side. They were in the Corusca room of the Mistress of Staves casino, a gaming level second only to the Diamond room, which was private and by reservation only. Corusca was still a high stakes gambling area, and the floor was currently crowded with players. Lining the walls above was a balcony restaurant where people could dine and watch the action below.

Lando caught the barman's attention. "Kault, please. A '45 if you have it." The barman poured a glass and looked questioningly at the Wookiee. Chewie growled low and the server quickly moved on to the next customer.

"He always talked up this room," Lando said. "Watch for a bald head with a cranial implant." Chewie rumbled. "I'd agree with that. Not more than a couple of guys, anyway—wait," he said. "I got him. Come on."

They made their way through the crowds of players until they reached a Sabaac table near the far end of the bar. Lobot was sitting in front of a sizable pile of chips. A pair of Duros, a Bith, and a very inebriated Gamorrean all glared at him. The dealer looked bored. They came up behind the cyborg.

"Big night?" Lando asked.

Lobot half-turned in his chair and looked Lando up and down dispassionately. He picked up a data pad and typed for a moment. He showed the screen to Lando. YOU GOT AWAY, it said.

"Barely. I lost the whole pot to the Empire back there, but the Alliance has staked me and I'm back in the game." He put a hand on Lobot's shoulder. "I need a favor."

Lobot just stared up at him.

"I was hoping you could make me a couple of your galactically renowned documents."

Lobot just stared. Lando's smile faltered.

"Forged documents. IDs. Fake IDs, Lobot. Can you help me?"

He held up the pad. I LOST MY EQUIPMENT ON CLOUD CITY.

"Can't you replace it?"

A few more key strokes. I AM NOT CURRENTLY PLANNING TO REPLACE IT. IF YOU WISH TO PROCURE THE EQUIPMENT FOR ME, I WILL MAKE YOU YOUR DOCUMENTS IN EXCHANGE.

Lando sighed in exasperation. "All my accounts were frozen by the Imps. Can you stake me? I'm good for it, I promise."

I THOUGHT THE ALLIANCE HAD STAKED YOU.

Lando squatted down so that he was eye to eye with his former aide. "Lobot, we worked together for a lot of years. You know that Vader made me set up my oldest friend and then turned him into a damned popsicle in my own house. I hate myself for it and I need you to help me straighten this thing out. Am I getting through to the human part of—

Chewie unleashed a fierce howl towards the balcony, and Lobot and Lando tracked his glare to its recipient.

Boba Fett stood in full armor on the balcony, his wrist blaster aimed directly at them. Lando yanked Lobot out of his chair and to the floor as the bounty hunter opened up, raking blaster bolts across the green felt of the Sabaac table. The piercing sound of blaster fire sparked mayhem among the gamblers as they shoved each other out of the way and tripped over fallen chairs in their mad dash for the exits.

Chewie grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it onto its side, sending chips and abandoned playing cards into the air. The three took cover behind it. Lando whipped his cape back over his left shoulder and yanked a silvery BlasTech DL-66 out of the back of his waist band. He popped up over the rim of the table and snapped off as many shots as he could at Fett. The bolts chewed up the railing of the balcony, sending flaming wood chips ricocheting off of Fett's armor. The bounty hunter staggered back two steps and then extended his other wrist and fired a rocket-dart.

"Down!" Lando yelled. Chewie and Lobot tucked and rolled away from the table just as the rocket exploded, blowing the entire thing off of the floor and flipping end over end through the air. They scurried underneath another table just as it crashed back down, collapsing into smoldering pieces.

"Chewie, you armed?" Lando called over the din. The Wookiee had left his bowcaster back on the ship, but he reached into the satchel at the end of his bandolier and pulled something out.

It was a thermal detonator.

Lando flashed a grin and sent up a volley of covering fire as Chewie rolled out from under the table. He activated the detonator and lobbed the metal sphere onto the balcony.

Fett saw the device sail past him and didn't wait for the results. He kicked off of the railing and ignited his jet pack just as the bomb exploded behind him, incinerating the entire balcony and bringing the flaming debris crashing to the floor.

The bounty hunter flew straight at them, firing his wrist blaster as he closed the gap. Chewie stood his ground and roared as a bolt singed his arm, setting that section of fur on fire. Fett had both fists out in front of him, and made to ram the Wookiee clear off of the ground. At the last moment, Chewie turned and bent his knees. He caught Fett as he soared by and used his momentum to throw him over the bar. Fett screamed as he smashed into shelves of liquor bottles, through the mirror behind them, and through the wall itself into the next room. He rolled to a stop amidst the rubble of plaster and broken glass.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Lando said. He strode towards the fallen mercenary, blaster in hand. "He looks just about ready to—

Chewie growled a warning and pulled Lando to the ground. A jet of flame shot out from Fett's position, engulfing the hole in the wall and setting the bar itself on fire. With all of the liquor going up, they were completely cut off by the inferno. They could just make out Fett stumbling away from the fire, and then he was out of sight.

Chewie helped Lando to his feet. Lobot was crawling out from under the table and towards the exit. "Damn it!" Lando said. "Come on, come on, we have to get to the _Falcon_ before Fett flies out of here."

**II.**

Onboard Imperial tanker ship 684, Mara Jade sat in the copilot's seat and drummed her fingers on the armrest. The Bith authorities were taking their sweet time launching their own tankers to accept the fuel transfer. Her ship was part of a six-tanker convoy working the Rimma Trade Route. They were currently holding orbit of Clak'Dor VII like a domestic herd waiting for their shepherd.

But while the other tankers were certainly nerfs, Mara's was the wolf in the fold. In addition to having enhanced shields and a grade-seven sensor array, the entire tank section was retrofitted to hold a concealed TIE fighter deployment rack, currently occupied by thirty-six fighters. At the push of a button, Mara could blow the top portion of the tank off and the fighters would launch moments later.

All they needed was a target.

She turned to the pilot, a naval officer who had been transferred to her command by the _Devastator_. "Long-range scans are still negative. Anything on short-range?"

"Nothing firm, ma'am."

Mara frowned. "You have something that's not so firm, Lieutentant?"

"Yes, ma'am. There's some ionization on the far side of Clak'Dor V, but sensors can't pin it down as starship exhaust."

"Lieutenant?"

The pilot kept looking at his instruments. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Lieutenant," she said firmly. He looked up at her.

"Our mission is basically to sit around hoping to be ambushed by rebel fighters," she said. "Am I wrong?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well thank the Emperor," she said. "Because here I thought I might be on the wrong ship."

He held her stare for a moment and then turned his chair back towards his control panel. Mara jabbed her left hand into his headrest, sending the chair a half-turn back towards her. She leaned in close.

"And because I'm not wrong, and because we are out here _hoping_ to be ambushed, you will report any and all unexplained, unidentified, and un-fracking-pinned down readings to your commander as soon as you lay your vacant eyes on them. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with parade-ground stiffness. His eyes were as round as two moons and they were welling up at the corners.

Mara's own tone was quiet and tired. "Good, Lieutenant. Carry on."

This was the problem in the Imperial fleet. From bottom to top, communication flowed like a slow stream on the north pole of Hoth. A fleet commander had sufficient authority to remove, demote, or execute any crewmember found to be performing at a level not to said commander's satisfaction. As a result, crewmembers and junior officers would never approach their commander with a suspicion, a theory, or heaven forbid, a question, because if it was judged to be unwarranted or unworthy, the crewman might well be blown out of an airlock for his initiative. The commanders were being led by example, and that example could be traced back to one individual.

Darth Vader.

Lord Vader's lightspeed temper and his first failure/last failure policy was the stuff of legend in the Imperial military. Vader's flagship, the _Executor_, had a senior officer mortality rate unsurpassed even by that of the Clone Wars, despite the absence of a full-scale war. He went through two admirals a year on average. Despite the prestige of commanding a Super Star Destroyer, most of the best captains avoided that command like the plague. Devar said there was a pool in the fleet to see how long the newly minted Admiral Piett would last. At any rate, the state of affairs was that the Empire's best and brightest often kept a low profile to avoid being tapped for the 'honor' of serving under Lord Vader, while pompous fools like Marcan Griff and Kendal Ozzel rose to the occasion, convinced by the spoiled unaccountability of their youth that their position amongst the aristocracy and their 'inborn talents' would shield them from Vader's wrath. As it turned out, their talent wasn't so inborn, and their windpipes crushed as easily as a common cadet's.

And so here she was, waiting to be jumped by the same starfighter squadron that killed the Death Star, and her pilot was holding back information because he was afraid she might punish him for wasting her valuable time. This was indeed the problem in the Imperial fleet.

She had delicately waded into this line of thought with the Emperor, but he always steered her away from the issue, deferring to Vader's judgment on how best to manage the military. Vader was, after all, his chosen apprentice.

Mara did not lose any reverence or respect for the Emperor as a result of his attitude. He was shaping the future of an entire galaxy. He didn't have time to be concerned with the day-to-day operations of soldiers.

But what Mara couldn't come to terms with was a pair of questions:

_Why Vader?_

_Why not me?_

"Ma'am," the pilot said. "Short-range sensors detected hyperspace signatures near Clak'Dor V—

A dozen fighters dropped out of lightspeed.

**III.**

Luke Skywalker sat in the pitch black cockpit of his X-Wing starfighter, watching the steam of his breath drift across the moon filling his canopy. He and the other eleven members of Rogue Squadron each lay in wait with their engines powered down and their life support systems operating at the lowest possible level.

On the other side of the moon was their intended target: six Imperial fuel tankers carrying full loads of Tibanna gas. It was enough fuel to keep the Alliance fleet moving for three months. And according to recent intel, the Empire had just reallocated half of its escort ships to other assignments, making the tankers easy pickings.

A single light blinked on Luke's control board. It was their local agent making contact. He activated his comm. system, but left all other systems inactive. On the small display screen, a set of coordinates appeared, along with a brief message tailored to Luke: 6 BANTHAS, 6 TUSKENS.

Luke pinged the rest of the squadron and they each powered their comm. units. He transmitted the agent's text message, along with one extra line: COLD START IN 20- FOLLOW ME TO JUMP POINT.

Luke took a slow deep breath and closed his eyes. He started a mental count to twenty and opened himself to the force. He could feel the familiar auras of the pilots to his portside, and the great mass of the moon just ahead.

_Things you will see. Other places:_

_He was in a cold forest at night._

_The future:_

_He could hear that terrible breathing coming from the darkness._

_The past:_

_A crimson blade slashed through his flesh._

_Old friends, long gone:_

_A carbonite slab hung in painful silence—_

Luke's hand shot out and hit the main power button exactly on time, as though directed by an independent consciousness. He was pulled out of his vision, but his senses still felt attuned to the force. He looked to port, and saw the main engines of the rest of the squad light up red. His control board lit fully—all systems were go. He fed the coordinates into the navicomputer.

"Here we go, Artoo. Hold on tight."

He stepped on his starboard rudder pedal, bringing the nose around right, and went full throttle. He burned hard around the moon's atmosphere, using the gravitational forces to boost his speed. His cockpit vibrated and Artoo's cry of exhilaration could just be heard over the engines. His squadron was right on him, like a flock of hawks soaring across a killing ground. When they shot around the moon's other side and broke orbit, Luke immediately pulled back on the hyperdrive lever and made the jump.

In-system jumps were tricky. The computer had to handle reentry because human response time was too slow to do it manually. From Luke's perspective, upon pulling the lever, there was a flash of light, and then he was diving straight at the tankers.

Luke hauled back on the stick and pulled up hard to avoid collision. He skipped off of a tanker's shields like a stone on the water, and tore past a TIE fighter escort, probably before its proximity alarm even had time to announce his arrival. He checked his rear display and saw the rest of the squad narrowly avoid collisions of their own. Luke broke radio silence.

"Rogue group, Rogue Leader. Lock S-foils in attack position. Take out the eyeballs first and no torpedoes near the tankers." Luke flipped a switch on the upper right of his canopy and the four wings separated for maximum blaster efficiency.

The pilots all signaled acknowledgments and teamed up into pairs to take on the TIEs, which they outnumbered two-to-one. Between strength of numbers and the element of surprise, the eyeballs were dust in under a minute and no pilot needed to waste a torpedo.

"Nice work, guys," Luke said. "Begin phase two. Three and Seven, take your flights in and hit tankers five and six. Leaders, hit the cockpits once the shields are down—just like the sims."

"Copy that," Wedge Antilles said. "Two flight, on me."

"I'm on it," Hobbie Klivian said. "Three flight, on me."

Both of Luke's flight leaders led the other three fighters in their groups on strafing runs, chipping away the tankers' shields with laser bolts.

"Okay, one flight," Luke said, addressing his own group. "Let's pass up and down the ventral hull of number four and hammer the shields. Avoid the blaster turret up top."

Luke went in first, putting his lasers into rapid cycle mode. All four wing cannons fired in turn, the bolts leaping out in a rotating pattern and splashing against the shields.

The rest of Luke's flight followed suit. They emerged beyond the nose of the tanker, well below the firing radius of the dorsal turret, which spat heavy laser blasts too far above their trajectories to be a threat. He checked his sensors and they showed the tanker's shields to be at forty-eight percent. "Okay, one flight—one more ventral pass from bow to stern and then cover me while I make my run on the cockpit."

Luke got two acknowledgments from his human pilots and one growl from Lak Sivrak, a Shistavanen Wolfman. They all ran the length of the ship again—this time Luke did not fire, but kept his eyes glued to the sensor readouts. He watched the shield strength steadily decline under the X-Wings' assault. Seven percent, four percent, one percent—

"Cease fire!" Luke called out. They couldn't risk blowing the tank once the shields came down. The rest of one flight flew past the rear of the ship to a safe distance while Luke pulled up around the stern in a tight arc and ran down the dorsal spine towards the cockpit. The turret cannon was rotating towards him when he vaporized it with a single blast from his cannon.

"Artoo, slow to ten percent speed and kill the engines—maneuvering thrusters only." The droid complied with a few hoots and Luke's fighter drifted leisurely along the top of the ship towards the bow. Luke fired maneuvering thrusters until he had come around one-hundred-eighty degrees, and was coasting in reverse. A few moments later, he floated past the bow, with the nose of his X-Wing facing the large cockpit canopy of the tanker. He thought he could make out the panicked expressions of the crew inside.

"May the force bring you peace," Luke said softly. He nailed the canopy with two laser bolts. The decompression within blew the transparisteel clean off, and three bodies flew out into space with it.

"Flights two and three, how does it look?"

"It's good, sir," Hobbie replied. "Our Bantha is adrift and waiting for its new master."

"Rogue Three?" Luke asked.

"We're set, boss," Wedge said.

Luke checked the status of the three tankers they hadn't attacked. They were burning as hard as they could away from the battle. Something felt wrong.

"All right—begin phase three. Leaders, deploy astro-droids to the tankers. Rogue ten, I need you to switch positions with me and send your droid over."

"I copy," she said, and maneuvered herself to the tanker's nose.

"What's wrong with your astro-droid, sir?" Tycho Celchu asked.

Artoo blatted indignantly. "I could never get his thrusters working since I got him four years ago," Luke explained. "The techs think it's a software problem, but I'm not willing to have his memory wiped to fix it."

As the main body of Rogue Squadron maintained a perimeter around the three tankers, Rogues Three, Seven, and Ten ejected their R2 and R5 units and the droids used their thrusters to head into the vented cockpits of the tankers. Once they made their way inside, they magnetized and began preparing the navicomputers for hyperspace jumps back to the Alliance rendezvous point. Luke's uneasiness increased, and he fought the urge to order his team to hurry.

With a burst of light, an Imperial star destroyer winked into existence a few thousand kilometers away. It began launching its TIE fighters.

"Backup just arrived, lead," Wedge said.

"I see it. Get those droids back in their sockets fast." He watched as the small, cylindrical droids propelled themselves out of the tankers and back towards their X-Wings. "Time to tanker jumps?"

"One minute," Wedge answered.

Luke looked at his tactical display. The destroyer wouldn't be in range for more than two minutes, but the TIEs would close the gap in forty seconds. If the droids were on their games, they could be locked in just before that. This was going to be close.

"Okay, all Rogues not waiting on an astro-droid, come about and target the eyeballs. Prepare to fire both tubes. Set for proximity detonation and go for the center of their formations."

Luke got his acknowledgements and watched the approaching targets on his heads-up display. The HUD crosshairs eased into the middle of the lead TIE quartet. He let fly both torpedoes. He saw the flaming tails of his other pilots torps moving parallel to his.

When the projectiles neared the center of the incoming formations, the eyeballs banked hard apart to avoid the blast. Their levels of success varied from partial to none at all as some of them were completely blown apart while others lost part of a wing or were peppered by molten shrapnel. In any case, the barrage bought Rogue Squadron the seconds they needed.

The three tankers made their jumps in staccato flashes of pseudomotion.

"Ten locked with astromech."

"Three locked."

There was a pause. "Seven?" Luke asked.

"Seven good to go," Hobbie came back.

"Then we're out of here. Make your jumps now." Luke checked the navicomputer. "We're good, Artoo?"

He beeped an affirmative. Luke threw back the hyperdrive lever for the second time inside of ten minutes. He was pulled back into his flight chair and squinted at the tunnel of light that encompassed him, and was on his way

It was a perfect mission. Big prizes, no damage, and no casualties.

All that being so, Luke still felt a threatening hostility lurking just out of reach—something totally separate from the arriving star destroyer. He couldn't help but feel that they had narrowly dodged a very large blaster bolt.

**IV.**

Deep in the black silence of space, on the decimated planetoid of Polis Massa, Darth Vader trembled as he experienced every facet of human emotion simultaneously.

He gripped the edge of the desk so tightly that there were indentations in the metal, and the surface itself had warped and bowed. Every nerve ending in his body, natural and synthetic, was firing at its peak.

On the computer monitor in front of him, Padme Amidala—Padme _Skywalker_—who had died that day on Mustafar—

_It seems that in your anger… you killed her._

—was giving birth one day later. Giving birth to his son.

He checked the date and time on the upper right corner of the sickbay log for the fiftieth time and confirmed that it was the next day. One day after Obi-wan had maimed him and left him for dead on the bank of that volcanic river.

Padme had died with his son in her womb. His son had been _born_. He had known these things.

But this was no miracle post-mortum delivery or convergence of the force. Padme survived Mustafar and she had given birth here on Polis Massa the next day.

_I didn't kill her._

On the feed, Padme arched her neck and screamed. A second later, Vader heard the most remarkable sound of his existence. The soft crying of a new born baby. His baby.

The medical droid was holding the infant. It was a boy, and through the child's squinting and tears, Vader could see brilliant blue—blue like the ocean that the desert Skywalkers imagined, but had never expected to see.

_Luke_, he thought.

_Luke_, Padme mouthed on the feed.

He realized at that moment that there was no sound in this vacuum. The crying he had heard—that gift—had sprung from elsewhere. He didn't question it. There are times when a thing of beauty comes to you, and you don't ask where it came from, or why it left shortly thereafter. You're just thankful for the experience, and for the way it redefines the boundaries of what you think of as life.

The Dark Lord of the Sith was not a man who could think of things in this way—perhaps he was not a man at all. But he wanted to hold on to this sensation of creating life. He wanted to cradle it in his mechanical fists a little longer, and clutch it to his armored chest.

Padme was now holding her baby boy lovingly. Suddenly, she tensed in pain again and looked to the medical droid—

There was a burst of static, and screen went black, save for one line of text:

DATA FILE INCOMPLETE.

Vader erupted.

Monitors throughout the control room exploded, shooting glass shards through the zero gravity environment. Metal equipment casings crushed in on themselves and furniture bolted to the deck was ripped free and flung into the ceiling. Vader called his lightsaber to his hand and began slashing apart anything that was left.

The entire explosive episode occurred in complete silence. His cape rippled gently as his arms pumped up and down and side to side, dicing everything in his path. Small pieces of metal and glass soared in every direction, bouncing off of walls and his own body. He finally stopped, his shoulders rising and falling in exertion he hadn't felt in years. Debris glided serenely throughout the shambles of the room. Vader floated in the center of it, a black island of rage in a sea of chaos. He remained that way for quite some time.

When he finally lowered himself back into his TIE fighter cockpit, he had come to a resolution. It was as simple as it was decisive:

_I am going to find my answers._

_I am going to get my son._

_And when I have those things, I will bring them before the Emperor._

_And then he will answer. _

_**To be continued...**_


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian and Chewbacca ran frantically across the Tal Chora promenade. It was essentially a wide steel walkway that ran around and between the casinos that protruded from the rock walls of the asteroid's interior. Lobot followed closely behind them, wearing an expression that was, as always, totally unreadable.

"She's moored over here, one level down," Lando called out. Chewie roared and a knot of tourists made way for them, clearing the railing around the edge of the walkway. The _Falcon's_ dorsal hull could be seen a couple of meters below. Lando grabbed the railing with both hands and vaulted over the side. His cloak fluttered behind him and his boots hit the hull with a deep clang. Chewie landed a moment later. Lando looked back and saw Lobot standing at the railing, deep in thought. Chewie had already begun keying the entry code for the top hatch.

"Come on, buddy, you have three seconds—in or out."

Lobot took one more moment, then fluidly stepped over the rail one leg at a time and dropped to the hull.

"Good man," Lando said. The hatch slid open and the Wookiee lowered himself in. The two men followed.

"Lobot, I need you on the upper quads. Chewie, we need to be in open space."

Lando and Chewie burst into the _Falcon's _cockpit a moment later, just in time to see _Slave I_ howl across the cavernous center of Asteroid Six. It disappeared into the access tunnel that lead to Asteroid Seven and its exterior portal to space.

"Son of a—" Lando dropped into the pilot's seat. "Skip prep and blow the docking collar. We're out of here now."

Chewie growled and punched in an emergency release from their moorings. The _Falcon_ got a small push when the airlock decompressed, and as soon as they had a few meters between them and the docking ring, Lando opened up the throttle, and with a roar that knocked nearby pedestrians to the deck, they blasted after Fett's ship.

A few seconds later, they shot into the tunnel. Neatly framed at the opposite end, _Slave I_ hovered in complete stillness, its guns aimed squarely at the _Falcon_. Lando barked a startled curse and hit the braking thrusters, nearly throwing he and Chewie through the canopy in the process. Fett's ship opened fire, peppering the _Falcon's_ forward shields. Chewie growled urgently. "I'm coming about! Lobot, hit him back, but don't go all the way—he's got Han."

The dorsal guns spat scarlet energy bolts back across the tunnel. Lobot rotated the turret to port as Lando turned the _Falcon_ to starboard, keeping the cockpit out of the line of fire. The steel tunnel echoed with the cacophony of blaster fire—_Slave I's_ shrieking rapid fire contrasting with the deep stuttering of the _Falcon's_ quad guns.

Once Lando had turned all the way around, he punched it on full, only to hit the brakes again as another vessel entered the tunnel from their side: a _Pursuer_-class Mandalorian patrol ship. No explanation was needed as to what side the ship was on.

It opened up, putting the _Falcon_ in a crossfire. Lando's hand shot out towards a control panel. "Hold on!" he yelled.

Two arakyd missiles tore out of the YT-1300's forward mandibles. Lando had wasted no time with targeting, and the missiles promptly arced into the tunnel's wall, blowing a huge section of the steel cylinder into space and causing an explosive decompression that sucked both the Pursuer and the _Falcon_ into the breach.

The long, narrow body of the Pursuer was tossed into a pin-wheeling spin that no pilot could easily recover from. Lando had already been firing braking thrusters when the force of the decompression grabbed them, so the _Falcon_ faired much better. He recovered almost immediately upon hitting open space, and set Lobot up for a kill shot while the other pilot was still fighting for control.

"Pour it on him, Lobot—nail him!"

The cyborg fired relentlessly, showering the bandit with blaster bolts. The glow of the Pursuer's shields withered under the assault.

"Keep it up," Lando said. "We need to take this guy out so we can chase Fett in the clear—

A pair of concussion missiles slammed into the _Falcon's_ rear shields, causing the cabin to go dark and kicking the freighter's aft section forward with such force that the ship somersaulted. As the star field spun around the canopy, the distinctive arrangement of _Slave I's_ rear thrusters shot past. It came about and took position in front of the Pursuer, all the while hitting them with piercing laser bolts. Lando was struck with an odd thought: a mother predator protecting a cub.

With no warning, the Pursuer leapt into hyperspace. _Slave I_ snapped off a few parting shots, spun one-hundred-eighty degrees, and made the jump as well.

"Damn," Lando said breathlessly.

**II.**

Mara Jade's tanker ship shuddered under the fire of a flight of X-Wings. They were chipping away at her shields, leisurely taking them down a little bit at a time to avoid blowing the fuel she appeared to be carrying.

What she actually _was_ carrying was an entire wing of TIE fighters. Thirty-six ships—triple the size of the force pitted against them. There was one problem, however:

The hatch on the rear tank wouldn't open.

Of all the ridiculous _crap_ that could go wrong on an ambush mission like this, she was sideswiped by a faulty-fracking-ejection system. She was beginning to sympathize with Vader's style of command. The chief-engineer of this catastrophe was a dead man if she managed to walk away from this somehow.

In the interests of that achieving that goal, Mara was now yanking a spacesuit on over her regular clothes with all possible haste. The suit was very similar to the ones worn by TIE pilots, and she currently had it on up to her waist.

"Shields are down to thirty-three percent," the pilot announced.

"Lieutenant, if you want to live, I suggest you forget the damned stats and suit up. The rebels are going to board us and they're not going to do it with a knock on the airlock door."

The pilot stood and took the spacesuit kit out from under his seat. "What do you think they'll do, ma'am?"

Mara was now zipping the front up to her neck. "Probably send a guy in a suit over with some explosives to blow the canopy and then program the jump back to their base."

"But how do we—

"Shut up and get that suit on." The fool was still holding the kit in front of his chest.

Thirty-six fighters. Thirty-six pilots, sitting in the pitch dark, wondering why they hadn't been green-lit. With all the jamming, she couldn't even get a message through to them. Thirty-six officers would be captured by the rebels without firing a shot. Captured, or maybe just blown out of space once the rebels realized there was no tibanna—

_Focus on what you can control._

She pulled the helmet on, shutting out the blaring alarms and the prattling of her pilot, who was too stupid to realize he was already dead. Of course, she might be dead, too, and it was her plan to boot. Who was the bigger fool?

The tanker shuttered again and the cabin lights dimmed. A light on the control panel flashed red.

The shields were down.

Mara checked the O2 hoses on her suit and all her seals. She made sure her emergency beacon was charged and secure. The only sound she could hear was her own breathing.

Through the view port, a silver X-Wing glided past and came about around a hundred meters out. His nose was pointed directly at the canopy.

Mara got it.

She threw herself down on the deck. The pilot was still standing with his suit up to his waist, asking a question she could not hear and would never have the chance to answer.

A massive red laser bolt exploded through the canopy, blowing huge transparisteel shards into the back wall. The pilot's body did nothing to slow them, and when the decompression sucked the remains of the window into space, he went with it in nearly as many pieces.

The chair Mara was clutching was torn from the deck as well, and she was flung hard into the black.

**III.**

"It's been a hell of a week," General Carlist Rieekan said from behind his desk. "Couple of weeks, really."

Luke stood in his utility fatigues in a relaxed, but military stance. "Yes, sir."

"We never really had a chance to discuss your activities after Hoth."

Luke simply nodded.

"As I understand it, you escorted your transport to the jump point, gave the jump command, but didn't actually jump with them. Am I accurate so far?"

"Yes, sir," Luke said. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he had a suspicion.

Rieekan picked up a data pad. "About five days later, the_ Millennium Falcon_ arrives at Cloud City on Bespin, after limping there from Hoth at sub-light. On day six, they're taken into custody by the Empire. On day seven, you show up."

"But not in time to save Han."

Rieekan put down the pad. "That wasn't what I was driving at. Rather that it's incredible that you knew to show up there at all, since Princess Leia's after-action report states that they made no attempt to contact you at any time while they were there."

Luke didn't say anything.

"Which begs the question," Rieekan said, "where was Commander Skywalker for those missing six days, and what was he doing."

"General, with respect, I—

"With all due respect to you, Commander, you went AWOL at a critical moment, not that there's really any other kind of moment in our line of work."

The general sighed. "Let me lay something out for you, Luke. You're a hero. You come off a farm out in the middle of nowhere, spring the princess from the Death Star—you _kill_ the Death Star right after, and then you set to work on becoming a Jedi knight. While commanding our best fighter squadron. And, to top it all off, you're about the nicest damned guy I've ever met."

Luke had to smile. "Thank you, sir."

"That being said," Rieekan said, "I think I've been too lenient with you, and to come right to the point, I think you've started to take advantage."

Luke jerked at that. "Advantage?"

Rieekan jumped out of his chair and came around the desk. "Yes, advantage. You're a commander. In a military unit. Your first responsibility is to your squadron, and to the Alliance. We're all volunteers here, but this isn't a job you can just come and go from—we're the most hunted resistance group in the galaxy for force sake. And what do I find along with your report from the fuel raid?" He waived a pad at Luke. "A leave of absence request."

"Sir—

"Commander, when was your last shore leave? When was your last R and R away from the base?"

"Never," Luke said.

"Because we _don't take damned vacations_. We are on the run. _You_, my friend, have a bounty on your head that would support this entire outfit for a month."

Luke fought back his indignation. "General, I was not on vacation, nor is my leave request meant to be—

"Oh, I know that," Rieekan said, waiving him off impatiently. "I never thought for one second that you were doing anything other than Jedi business. And I know that's what this leave request is about."

Luke nodded, feeling some relief. At least the general didn't think he was some kind of deserter or double agent.

"Can you tell me where you were?" Rieekan asked.

"I can tell you that I was furthering my training as a Jedi. But it's best I don't say any more. Where I was—what I was doing… there's just too much at stake. I can't risk any part of it getting back to the Empire."

Rieekan nodded. "I agree. Even though you're not what I'd call a military man, you're simply the most important asset the Alliance has. You can sense things—do things—that are unbelievable."

"General, that's why it's so important that I continue my training, that I be allowed to take leave and return as a Jedi knight."

"There are some big things coming, Luke. I can't be completely forthcoming right now, but there will be some crucial ops in the coming months that will probably decide the outcome of the war. I'm going to need you here."

"If I could have even a month—a week—that might make all the difference."

Rieekan sat down on the edge of his desk. He looked at the deck for a few moments, his brow deeply furrowed. Then he looked straight at Luke.

"I need you here, on active duty, for a year."

"_A year_?"

"And I need your word that you won't go AWOL during that time."

Luke was devastated. He felt as though his chest was caving in.

_I need to ask Master Yoda. I need him to tell me it isn't true._

Rieekan put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "Calrissian needs time to burrow into Jabba's organization. When he signals, you'll lead the mission to get Han. After you free him, you have my permission to do whatever you need to do, wherever you need to do it. Just get back in the fight as soon as possible afterwards. Deal?"

Luke exhaled a ragged breath. He nodded. "May I have some latitude to train here on the ship when I'm not on duty?"

Rieekan held out his hand. "Whatever you need, Commander."

"Then you have my word."

They shook.

"I knew I could count on you, Luke. You did a hell of a job bringing back those tankers. I'll read your report and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Luke saluted and walked out of the general's ready room.

What Rieekan was asking of him made sense. He felt he should be at peace with his decision. But somehow, he still felt a sense of dread.

The feeling had not left him since the tanker raid.

**IV.**

The Yoda hunt was no longer even a glimmer in Darth Vader's mind. He was on a very different mission now. If the term 'mission' could even be applied—such an undertaking—such a _commitment_ that he now had to his goals—defied the boundaries of obsession. Vader was an engine of purpose that would not slow or alter course no matter the cost.

When he popped the hatch of his TIE Advanced this time, gravity was in full effect, and he pulled himself up to stand atop the ball-shaped cockpit. He stood with his boots planted on the hull, looking out across a moonlit field studded with headstones.

It was autumn on Naboo, and a gentle breeze blew dark leaves into and around the graves, making a rustling sound reminiscent of sandpaper on stone. It was the middle of the night, and there were no other visitors to be seen.

Vader dropped to the grass below silently, and walked into the graveyard. The moonlight was insufficient to read the engravings on the tablets, and the dark lord reached into his cloak and produced his saber. He couldn't help but reflect that he had used it more for a tool in recent days than for its usual, lethal purpose. The blade hissed to life, and he moved it to the left with a low hum. It bathed the first headstone in scarlet light.

Not her.

His wife had been an extremely important figure on this world. A queen. A senator. Such a person's grave was nearly always easy to find. Or totally impossible.

But Padme's would be neither. She had her wishes for her final arrangements documented on Coruscant and on Naboo, and those wishes were made known to those close to her.

She was of Naboo. She was of _the people_ of Naboo. She wanted to lie among them. She did not want to be cremated. She wanted her body to nourish the world that had given her life, and to continue its cycle.

Vader walked up and down the aisles, sweeping his blade slowly from left to right, scanning the names of the dead. This was one of the planet's larger public cemeteries, and it stretched for kilometers in every direction. He had never been here before—he had made it his business never to set foot on this planet again after—

After… what would one call such a thing?

—and he had no idea where her grave would be in relation to any of the others. He would just have to walk. And look. One headstone at a time. One aisle at a time.

As the black figure moved slowly among the graves, his glowing blade seemingly floating through the night, someone else watched from a distance.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian sat in _Millennium Falcon's_ co-pilot seat. It had been over twelve hours since _Slave I_ plowed two concussion missiles into their aft section, and the ship was currently dead in space.

Chewie was working on the hyperdrive—and cursing up a storm in his native tongue, since the drive had just been repaired a few days before. Lobot was working on the main computer system, as his cybernetic implant gave him nearly limitless interfacing ability. Both of them worked by portable torch light, since main power was still offline.

But Lando was no starship mechanic or computer slicer, which made him the obvious choice to be lookout. This left him with the task of staring out into space, in the pitch dark, alone.

_What I need to know is are you a responsible man?_

He couldn't get Luke's simple question out of his head, nor could he avoid his own answer.

_I'm not. I'm reckless. I'm selfish. And I'm stupid._

How else would you describe a man who decided to jump Boba Fett?

_Boba Fett is a guy that spends every minute of every day working on more efficient ways to kill people._

Lando had said that himself. Out loud. To Leia Organa, a genuine military leader who routinely went toe to toe with the Empire, who then told him that there was no way. But he charged in all the same. And what happened?

_They_ got jumped. Twice. In the same day.

And what would he have done if they had nabbed Fett in the casino? Beat Han out of him? Lethality of the Mandalorian armor aside, the bounty hunter's legendary determination and inborn contrariness would have almost certainly kept him from obliging.

And then there was the matter of their dogfight. Lando was so chagrined at Fett's ability to walk away from a two-on-one brawl, that he flew right after him without a plan in his head. Of course, Fett got the drop on him again, and the best part was Lando only then realized that he couldn't drop the hammer because that would mean killing Han. Part of him was relieved that the thought had occurred to him at all.

Lando looked at the empty pilot's seat beside him. Han's seat. He had spent so many years being so angry that Han had won the _Falcon_ from him. But as he looked around, he could see the Corellian's touch everywhere. Lando had loved this ship, but Han made it his home. His nation. His art. He remembered all the times he and Han had spent together on this ship—especially the last time they had blasted out of Tal Chora together. As great as the _Falcon_ was then, she was still in her infancy when compared to the great lady Han had molded her into. He felt his old friend's absence all the more.

That Jedi had him pegged from minute one. He was fighting the temptation to fight for the wrong reasons. Ego and vengeance were influencing him. Losing Cloud City was painful and humiliating. But what really drove him was guilt. Guilt, and the belief that being the one to thaw out his friend, and being the first kind voice he heard, would wipe the slate clean all around.

But to really make things right, and more importantly, to get this thing done, it had to be about one simple thing only: get Han out, alive. It didn't matter who did it or how. It just had to happen.

As wrong as it felt, Lando knew what he had to do.

**II.**

_A dry heat blasted Mara Jade in the face, as hot as if she had stuck her head in a furnace. Bright light assailed her eyes through her closed lids. She opened them to slits, and saw twin suns sizzling in the sky. She shifted her gaze downward, and saw arid desert several meters below her. _

_She was standing on an iron deck, her hands resting on a hot metal rail. It was a sail barge. Floating along side was a smaller skiff, studded with alien thugs and a few prisoners. One Wookiee and two humans._

_Skywalker and Solo. _

_She reached for a weapon, and was surprised to find herself scantily clad in some sort of cabaret getup, and more to the point, unarmed._

_The skiff guards used force pikes to maneuver Skywalker onto a plank. Below was a huge, predatory mouth set at the bottom of a sand pit. _

_An astro-droid rolled up to the railing a couple of meters to her right. It oriented itself towards Skywalker. Skywalker himself seemed to be visually scanning the barge, and stopped when he saw the R2 unit. He saluted, and the droid responded by opening a small hatch in his head-dome. She could see the butt of a lightsaber within._

_The saber shot out of the droid, and Skywalker flipped back over the heads of his captors and onto the main deck of the skiff. As the weapon arced towards his position, she shot out her hand and focused on it. It changed course, and came around to her. The cylinder slapped against her hand and she gripped it. _

_She could feel the presence of her master watching the spectacle through her eyes. She felt sadistic amusement rise in her chest, but it was not her own. As she erupted with his mocking laughter, she heard the Emperor's voice in her mind: _

_Return home at once, child._

The vision, and the Emperor's voice, faded. The glare of the sun was replaced by encompassing darkness, interrupted only by the pin point lights of stars. She could hear her own breathing, but nothing else.

She was adrift in space, with only a flight suit between her and the void. The battle was over. She had lost.

Having been blown out of the cockpit of her ship, she now tumbled through the stars, her view of eternity rotating as her body did.

A sheet of white drifted into the corner of her view, and continued until it eclipsed everything. It was metal. It was a ship's hull.

She then clearly saw the lit opening of the docking bay of an Imperial-class star destroyer.

It was her ride.

**III.**

Wedge Antilles moved quietly along the wall of the ship's portside companionway. He stopped at a closed doorway and drew his blaster from its holster. Luke was on the other side of the door—he was sure of it.

_I don't want to do this._

He took a deep breath, slapped the door release, and launched himself into the room, blaster first.

Janson was already down, and Luke stood in the center of the room, holding a titanium beam in a combat-ready stance. Hobbie was firing at him from behind a stack of crates. Luke was deflecting the bolts with the meter-long beam, knocking them back at Hobbie, keeping him pinned.

Luke's back was to Wedge. He had his opening.

_Sorry, Luke._

As his finger tightened on the trigger, Luke half turned and gestured his hand towards Wedge. The pistol was snatched out of his hand and went straight to Luke's. He caught it in a firing grip and put two shots into Wedge's right thigh.

"_Ow, damn it!._" Wedge dropped to the deck. "I'm down," he called.

Hobbie took advantage of the momentary distraction to come out from cover for a killing shot. Luke spun back and gestured again, this time bringing a container tumbling off of the stack and onto Hobbie, knocking him to the deck.

At that moment, a grate from the ceiling fell open, and three shots were fired into Luke's back and shoulder.

Luke winced in pain and dropped his titanium rod in surrender. "I'm down."

Janson stood up and went over to Hobbie. He looked at his friend, who was laying under a large container. "You down, Hobbs?"

"What the hell does it look like—would you give me a hand?"

"Because I didn't hear you say 'down,' and I wanted to make sure, because the rules of the game were you say 'down' when you took a hit, which it certainly seems—

"_Wes, I swear on your mother if you don't_—

Luke trotted over and the two of them pulled the awkward, but not extremely heavy crate off of Hobbie. "Sorry about that," Luke said.

There was a muffled sound from in the ceiling, and then Tycho Celchu dropped down to the deck. "You all right, Commander?"

"Yeah, thanks," Luke said with a small salute. "But those practice bolts sure do sting. How'd you get up there?"

"Trade secret."

Janson had Hobbie on his feet now and Wedge limped over to the group, rubbing his thigh.

"This isn't what I signed on for," Hobbie said. "Can't you find some newbies or droids to torture?" He then added lamely, "Sir."

"Listen, guys, I know this isn't how you want to spend your off hours, but I just want to thank you again for helping me out with my training." He opened up a case he had tucked away in a corner and handed out ice packs. "It means a lot."

"Whatever you need, boss," Wedge said. He took a pack and held it to his thigh. "I just hope it's me that gets you next time. Losing is just too damned painful."

"Don't worry about it too much, Wedge," Luke said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "No one will get me next time."

This brought a round of hoots and friendly challenges from the other pilots, and they all walked or hobbled out of the cargo bay.

Janson turned to Hobbie. "You swear on my mother?"

Hobbie looked back. "I always swear on your mother."

**IV.**

In the middle of the night, after several hours of searching, Darth Vader found himself amidst a sea of gravestones. The markers of the dead sprawled out before him in all directions. There was a low, steady wind, and the sun had yet to approach the horizon. Row by row, grave by grave, he held his crimson lightsaber to the engravings, and read the names of dead strangers.

He swept his blade up to a small stone marker and stopped.

_P. NABERRIE. _

_Beloved daughter of Naboo._

It was her. It had to be her. Vader stared at the carved letters, bathed in the glow of his saber. He began to lower himself to the ground—

"It is clear to anyone that you are searching for something."

Vader whirled towards the voice, bringing his blade upright into a high guard position. He looked into a luminous face. An impossible face.

It was the face of Qui-Gon Jinn.

Vader stared at him, ready to strike, for several moments. For his part, Qui-Gon simply stood with his arms folded across his chest, his body casting a soft blue glow on the ground and the tops of the gravestones. He stood atop dry, curled up leaves, but had made no sound on his approach.

"Impossible," Vader said.

"But I wonder if anyone could say what it is you're searching for," Qui-Gon continued. "Especially you."

"I search for the truth," Vader answered sharply. "I have searched with the Jedi. I have searched with the Sith." He lowered his blade and turned back to her grave. "But I've never found it."

"The truth depends greatly on one's point of—

Vader spun and slashed his blade clean through the apparition's neck. The saber passed under Qui-Gon's chin and continued back around Vader's right shoulder. Qui-Gon's expression changed only slightly, as though the move by his old padawan was a simple form of conversational interruption.

"There can only be one truth! A person is alive or they are dead. That is truth. A person is good or is evil—

"And what are you?"

Vader spun his saber so that the blade was pointing towards the ground. "Not a Jedi. Not a Sith."

"A man?" Qui-Gon asked.

"I am deceived. No longer."

Vader turned and lifted his saber above his head. He plunged the blade into the ground in front of Padme's headstone. A few leaves crumpled as their edges caught aflame. Vader held for a moment, then pulled back and shut down his weapon. Qui-Gon watched quietly.

Vader reached into his belt and produced a small, black sphere. His thumb grazed an inset button and the micro-probe hummed to life. He let go of it and it floated itself down into the hole in the ground he'd created.

"If it's not her, what will you do?"

Vader did not answer. The two stood silently in the dark and waited. The wind flapped Vader's cloak. Qui-Gon's Jedi robes were perfectly still, and his glow provided the only semblance of light.

"I want you to ask yourself what it is you seek. I want you to ask yourself why you seek it."

The probe reemerged from the hole and floated back into Vader's hand. He pulled a data pad from the back of his belt and waited for the probe to interface with it. There was a soft ping a moment later and Vader looked at the screen. His shoulders sagged just noticeably.

"It is her. She is dead."

"What do you seek, Anakin?"

"My son."

"Good. And why do you seek him? So you may rule the galaxy together?"

"Only long enough to make it what it should be."

"You would claim emergency powers, then? Give it all back when the time is right?"

"If that is our destiny."

"It seems to me that a pair of men already claimed that destiny. When you look at how the years since have been spent, ask yourself… do you want your son have that same destiny? Or would you end the cycle, and finally bring the balance I know you were born to bring?"

Vader said nothing.

"You are at a vital crossroads now, Anakin. That is why I am here. When the time comes, you will have to decide what you want. For all of us. May the force be with you."

Qui-Gon's image faded. Vader was left alone in the darkness, the light wind causing ripples in his cloak.

_**To be continued…**_


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian maneuvered the _Millennium Falcon_ through the planet Veraant's atmosphere. The ship's hull was pitted from blaster fire and the entire back quarter was blackened from the missile impact they had suffered. They were wobbling a bit due to a damaged stabilizer, which shot off sparks at random intervals. Veraant had been the only port world they had any hope of reaching in their condition—they were lucky to have made it at all.

"Look, I appreciate the offer," Lando said into the comm microphone, "but a fire crew isn't needed." Lando listened to the response in his earpiece and rolled his eyes. "I understand it's more for you than for us, but trust me—we don't even have enough fuel to explode—we're coasting on vapor as it is." He listened again and then interrupted the speaker. "Fine, send them, send the whole brigade, what do we care? _Star's End_ out." Lando cut the channel.

A minute later, they set down in a docking bay at the far edge of the spaceport, where the authorities felt their impending combustion would do the least damage. Lando got out of the pilot's chair and walked back into the hold.

"What's the estimate?" he asked Chewie.

The Wookiee turned off his welder and flipped up his mask. He growled unenthusiastically.

"Well, then I guess that gives me some time to work with. Lobot, how much cash do we need to procure the ID gear?"

Lobot did not look away from the circuit board he was crouched in front of, but tapped a few keystrokes into the data pad laying beside him. He slid it across the deck and it came to a stop at Lando's feet. He scooped it up.

_2,000 CREDITS_ glowed across the screen.

Lando nodded. "I'll make it happen. I just need to find the right game."

Chewie and Lobot continued their work and did not respond.

"Look, I know this plan isn't too popular among the crew…" he waited for a chuckle—none came. "But it's the safest bet for springing Han. It's just going to take a while. We can't keep charging around with a blaster in each hand. It's time to try at subtlety." He turned away and headed for his bunk. "Maybe even some strategy," he muttered.

As he changed into one of his more dashing outfits, Lando took stock of the situation. Chewie estimated two days of repairs. Lobot was almost done with the computer, so he could be look out while Chewie worked. There was a decent chance Fett and his partner had landed here on Veraant as well, but Lando had changed the false registry of the ship again, and reconfigured the transponder so they would scan as a YT-1200, an earlier model from the same line. Hopefully that would keep them off the bounty hunter's radar. The last thing they needed right now was another fight.

The plan was that Lando would find a Sabaac game in town and clean it out. The winnings would pay for Lobot's equipment, and a one-way ticket to Tatooine for himself. Lobot and Chewie would take the _Falcon_ to Obroa-skai, a planet known for having the most complete data library in the galaxy. They would imbed Lando's alternate identity there, and create a person from thin air that all searches would lead back to—a person with a suitably troubled past to make him a viable candidate for Hutt employment. They'd picked a name as unsophisticated and unrefined as they could conjure: Tamtel Skreej.

When Lando reached Tatooine, he'd be in character, and begin to make himself known. When the recruiters came around, he'd take a gig at Jabba's palace.

All said and done, it would take months. Maybe even a year.

Lando told the guys he'd see them in a day or two and strode down the gangway, buttoning the cuffs on his silk shirt. A long cape floated behind him.

Standing near the bay's entrance was a pimple-faced teenager in a heavy raincoat holding a fire extinguisher. Apparently the spaceport had decided to make only a token effort. As Lando walked by, he flipped a credit chip at the kid, who caught it awkwardly against his chest. "Give her a good shine, my friend."

Later that evening, Lando emerged from a tavern with better than six thousand credits lining his pockets. He laid odds of three-to-two that he'd be jumped outside, and kept a firm grip on his blaster as he walked through the streets towards the _Falcon's_ berth.

Mainport was the name of Veraant's only city. It had cobblestone streets and wood buildings, and was surrounded by pine forests that you could smell on the night air. It was a bit rustic for Lando's taste, but he could appreciate its simple elegance. Aside from its lone port city, Veraant's only other noteworthy attribute was a pharmaceutical development facility on the planet's other continent.

After twenty minutes of walking, he was almost back to the _Falcon_ and his tense alertness began to subside. It was then that he heard the faint clinking sound of a person in armor.

He hadn't even finished turning around when the stun bolt took him.

**II.**

It was a typical evening in the officer's mess on board the Imperial star destroyer _Devastator_. There was the light scraping of fine silverware on porcelain plates and the soft clinking of crystal glasses. Conversation was the low hum of gentlemen speaking with crisp accents common to the core worlds. An amused laugh would come through occasionally, such as the one the chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Juran Haramin, was currently emitting.

At the far end of the mess hall, the door slid open quietly and a female wearing the green uniform of an officer strode in. The uniform's cap did not fully conceal her brilliant red-gold hair. Heads began to turn as she made her way towards the senior officer's table. Female officers were still rare in the Empire—beautiful ones were that much more unusual. Conversational sounds took on a different pitch, and Commander Haramin began to turn to see what the fuss was about.

Mara Jade's black gloved fist cracked across his jaw, sending him tumbling from his seat onto the deck. Chairs scraped as his fellow officers rose to his defense.

"As you were!" came a stern male voice. Captain Devar had positioned himself in the doorway. The men stood their ground, some even sinking back into their seats with small smirks.

Haramin got up on his elbows and knees, just in time to take a sharp kick in the ribs that put him back flat on the deck.

"On your feet, Commander," Mara ordered.

Coughing, he grabbed the edge of the table and pulled himself up. His eyes were bloodshot and alive with fury. He took hold of the back of a chair and swung it at the girl who had attacked him.

Mara stepped back and felt the breeze of the near miss as Haramin's swing brought the chair all the way back to his left side. She moved back in and slammed her boot heel down into the side of his knee with a resounding crack. He cried out shrilly and went down on his good knee. Mara struck him with a backhand fist that sprayed blood from his nose and laid him out flat on his back.

She stepped over to look down at him. He threw up his arms to shield himself. Mara snorted and turned to face the assembled officers.

"This man certified a priority engineering project as tested and complete. It failed totally during a crucial mission. The Empire lost an engagement to the rebellion, and three-dozen of our best pilots were taken without firing a shot."

The tone of the other men became harsher and they looked upon the chief engineer contemptuously. Amid the grumbling she heard words like 'airlock' and 'firing squad.'

"Incompetence must be punished. But dead men don't learn from their mistakes." She turned to the Captain. "May I respectfully suggest that this person be transferred to a post more suitable to his performance level?"

The Captain nodded. "I will strongly consider it."

Mara squatted down and got right in his face. "Your incompetence stems from negligence, and negligence is treason," she whispered harshly. "But you don't merit a death at my hands you pathetic meat sack. You're going to stay in the service and work whatever embarrassing crap assignment they find for you to the best of your ability. Serve the Empire. And if I find for one moment you're not, you'll receive an even less cordial visit from me."

She stood and walked back towards the Captain, boots clicking on the deck.

"Please arrange a shuttle for me, Captain."

"It will be done," he said.

The Emperor was waiting.

**III.**

Wedge, Hobbie, Janson, and Tycho stood together just inside the main hangar bay of the rebel dreadnaught cruiser _Yavin Victory_. They all stared in the same direction, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

"What the hell's he doing?" Hobbie asked.

Across the bay, Luke Skywalker, their commander, sat on the floor with his legs crossed in front of his X-Wing. He was positioned with his back to them. He hadn't moved in an hour.

"He's sitting," Janson answered.

"But he said he was going to do his training."

"Good morning, gentlemen."

They all snapped to as Princess Leia eased over to them with a casual smile on her face.

As the senior officer present, protocol dictated that Wedge speak for the group. "Your highness," he said with a small bow.

"At ease, Captain," she nodded. "What's Luke up to?"

"We were, ah, just discussing the possibilities, your highness," Wedge answered.

She gave the men a knowing look. "Not gossiping? Because from where I was standing, I couldn't tell if this was a squadron meeting or a sewing circle."

Wedge gave an embarrassed smile and looked at the deck. "A bit of both, most likely."

"We're renaissance men," Janson offered with a deadpan expression.

"I'm certain, Lieutenant." She looked back over at Luke. "So what's the general impression here?"

"We had chow a couple of hours ago," Hobbie said, "and the skipper said he was going to do some training and he'd catch up with us later. We help him with that sometimes, so we thought we'd stop in and see what he was working on. This is what we found."

"You help him?" she asked.

"When he asks us to, which is most days," Hobbie said. "Usually he ends up beating up on us, but we get the drop on him sometimes, too."

"I beg your pardon?"

Wedge cleared his throat. "We engage in simulated combat exercises. The guys here and I generally try to win by way of outnumbering him, while the Commander tries to draw on his Jedi abilities to overcome us. Most recently we've been having practice dogfights."

"How bad has he been trouncing you?" Leia asked.

"We won the last one, highness," Janson said proudly. "Only took about five minutes."

"Really?" Leia asked. She looked towards Luke with concern.

"He was flying without instrumentation," Wedge explained. "And his eyes were closed." He glared at Janson. "The entire time."

"Still smoked him," Janson mumbled.

She looked at the blond man standing quietly off to the side of their group. "Hello, Tycho. It's good to see you."

Her fellow Alderaanian bowed at the waist. "The pleasure is mine, as always, your highness."

A great deal always went unsaid in their pleasantries, Leia thought. They shared a bond of loss that could only be felt by those who were left adrift when their world was extinguished. She wished for more familiarity and candor between them, but their positions, both as they were in Alderaanian society, and as they were now in the Alliance, left a void between them. She hoped that might change in time, and got the sense he did as well. There simply weren't many of them left. An image of Han came to her mind's eye—as it did on virtually any occasion. She pushed it away.

"Well, I hate speculation," she said to the group as a whole. "I guess someone needs to ask him what he's doing."

"If her highness thought it appropriate, perhaps she would brief us on the intel she uncovers," Wedge said.

"Perhaps," she smiled. "Good day, gentlemen."

Leia walked across the hangar bay, giving nods and smiles to the various engineers and crewman she passed. She watched Luke as she approached him. He still hadn't moved.

She came up alongside him. His eyes were expressionless and he simply stared at the hull of his fighter. She sat down next to him, crossing her legs in the same way he had.

"What are we looking at?" she whispered.

Luke didn't reply for a long moment. He then blinked and seemed to need to get his bearings. He turned and saw her.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," she said. "What are you doing?"

Luke thought about it for a moment, as if he himself weren't sure. He then smiled and answered. "Trying to unlearn some things."

Leia waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. "Interesting."

"So what brings you down here?" Luke asked.

"I wanted to let you know there's a briefing at seventeen-hundred. Mandatory attendance by all command officers."

"I guess the General wasn't kidding when he said big things were coming."

"At least some of it is good news. But I'll leave the details to the tacticians."

"Well, I guess I'll see you there," he said.

Luke gathered himself to stand up, but Leia put a hand on his arm. "Luke, wait. When can we talk about where you went after Hoth?"

He sighed. "After the war. After the Emperor is dead. It can't be before."

"Why can't you trust me with this?" she asked, her voice laced with hurt.

"This isn't about trust, Leia. The Emperor can pick the thoughts from a person's mind, and any one of us could be captured at any time. I trust you with my life, but I have to keep this to myself. For all of us."

Leia nodded. "Okay."

Luke put a hand affectionately on her upper back, and then stood up to walk away.

"You said when the Emperor dies. But what about Vader?"

Luke stopped and looked back. He had a haunted look on his face.

"We'll see," he said.

**IV.**

Darth Vader flew hard away from Naboo's atmosphere in his TIE Advanced. He wanted nothing more than to be encased in the light of hyperspace, putting light years between himself and the doubt and misery he wished to leave behind on that world. There was just one problem:

He did not know where to go.

_What do you seek, Anakin?_

Qui-Gon Jinn's question echoed in his mind, and his answer remained the same—his son. All of the masters he'd served—Jedi and Sith—had conspired in one way or another to deny him a family. The Jedi had kept him from his mother as a child, and from his wife as an adult. Obi-wan had hidden his son from him, and in the worst offense, the Emperor had told him he'd killed Padme, to make sure he never even considered the existence of their child. The existence of another path for his life.

As he looked out of the canopy into the infinite night, he realized there was no one person in the galaxy that he shared his existence with in any meaningful way. There was no one person he could trust.

Luke should have been that person. But Obi-wan had made certain to destroy any possibility of that. It was not enough to simply hide him away, but Kenobi had gone so far as to tell Luke that Vader had murdered his father. Vader's own son had cultivated such an intense, consuming hatred of him, that when their true relationship was revealed, the boy preferred suicide to finally having a father.

And they had so much in common. Both grew up on Tatooine. Both were incredible pilots.

Both had been lied to by the Jedi.

But where Vader had no one to count on, and nothing to believe in, his son was surrounded by friends who revered him as a hero. He fought an uphill battle for a cause he believed was just and honorable. Vader remembered a similar time in his life. But of course, it had ended in betrayal, as such things always did. The first of Luke's allusions had been shattered after their duel on Bespin. The rest would follow in succession.

But where Vader had been alone in the aftermath, his son would have someone to turn to. Someone who would fight back to back with him against his enemies, and stand side by side with him in victory.

Qui-Gon had asked him if he would spare his son the same painful destiny that had claimed his own life. The answer was yes. When his son found that the friends he had once been proud serve amongst were gone, he would have another life waiting for him.

And Vader was fully prepared to speed him to that day.

_**To be continued…**_


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian awoke and opened his eyes, but saw nothing. He blinked a few times to be sure, and then arrived at the unpleasant conclusion that he was either someplace very dark, or had been blinded.

As he struggled to get his bearings, he realized that he was upright, but was strapped to a gurney of some kind. His arms were restrained against his sides, and his palms rested against the cool skin of his thighs. He could feel a slight draft where there should be no draft—he was naked.

_Fantastic_, he thought bitterly.

There was a loud, hydraulic hiss and the blackness in front of him moved upwards as the wall slid open. A blinding light took its place. The gurney lurched forward and he was in the open air, squinting tightly against the harsh brightness. As he tried to open his eyes, he could just make out the silhouetted figure of an armored humanoid standing in front of him.

A thin rod swooped through the air and cracked Lando across the face. He grunted in pain.

"Fett?" he asked.

There was another whoosh of air and he was struck on the other cheek. This time, a sharpened end dragged across his face, cutting him. The rod was not cold—it felt like a wood shoot of some sort. _For pain inducement only_, he realized. _Cute_.

The light cut out suddenly, and Lando was back in the dark. His pupils fought to adjust.

"So we're playing games?" Lando demanded. "I'm a gamer by profession, and I—

A wide, heavy slab of industrial rubber slammed against his abdomen. The air shot out of him, and though his body yearned to cough, he had nothing in his lungs to cough with. He choked and sputtered. A small, hard fist punched him under the nose, knocking his head back into the gurney.

_I really pissed this guy off. It must be Fett._

As Lando fought to catch his breath, he looked around again and still couldn't see anything. Had he blacked out? Was he back in the compartment?

The flood lights came on again. The sharpened rod jabbed him in the ribs. He winced. The lights went out again.

He could feel the air shift as his captor moved about the room. For several long seconds, there was nothing.

The lights flashed again and the point jabbed into the soft bottom of his bare foot, puncturing the skin. He cried out and struggled against his restraints. It went dark again.

"You fracking coward!" he roared. "I'll—

The rubber slab socked him in the gut again, the thud echoing through the room. Lando retched violently and sagged back against the gurney. He was exhausted.

"Tomorrow," said a gravelly, metallic voice, "we'll try this again."

Lando felt a rush of air larger than any of the others and the slab nailed the top of his head, exploding stars amid the darkness. With another lurch, the gurney rolled back into its compartment, and the hatch slammed shut.

Unconsciousness tugged at him.

He welcomed it.

**II.**

Mara Jade walked along the cavernous hallway leading up to the Emperor's throne room on Imperial Center. It was lined with massive marble pillars and ornately sculpted potted trees. At the far end, flanking the entrance, were four of the elite Royal Guards, clad in the famous crimson cloaks of their order.

There was someone else as well. She was sitting on a plush bench set against the left wall, several meters from the guards. She too was dressed in crimson, but she wore no helmet. Her black hair fell just past her shoulders, and her eyes—one blue, one red—were fixed upon a data pad she was studying.

Mara sighed inwardly.

_Let the games begin._

She walked up to within a meter of her. The other woman did not look up from her pad.

"Madame Director," Mara greeted her.

"Emperor's Hand," Ysanne Isard replied evenly. She continued with the pad.

"No rest for those gathering intelligence, I take it."

"No rest for those directing intelligence," Isard corrected her.

"Of course," Mara answered. She was willing to demure a bit because Isard was in the Emperor's good graces. For the moment.

While she couldn't fathom that her master trusted this woman over her, Mara could certainly appreciate that Isard was more his type of creature—ruthless, cunning, and brilliant at manipulating friend and foe from a distance. They were two of a kind, she and the Emperor.

"I was just reading up on the Clak'Dor incident," Isard said. "A faulty ejection system on the carrier ship." She shook her head. "It's hard to believe."

"It certainly was," Mara ground out. She was in no mood to be toyed with on this matter.

"I see the chief engineer was dealt with."

"I heard he was going to receive a less than glorious transfer."

"Where did you hear that?"

"From a source close to the _Devastator's_ captain."

Isard looked at the pad's screen for a moment. "That's interesting."

"How so?"

"Because a source close to the _Executor's _commander reports a quiet transfer of one Lt. Commander Juran Haramin to the post of chief engineer aboard the flagship."

Mara fought to keep her composure. She felt the back of her neck tingle and her stomach sour. "Really?" she managed.

Isard looked directly at her now. As distracting as the red and blue eyes were, it was not enough to hide the amusement behind them.

"Hard to believe," Isard repeated.

The heavy steel doors of the throne room slid apart and the Emperor's herald stepped out. He was a cold, older man wearing long, purple robes.

"His Excellency will see you both," he proclaimed.

**III.**

Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles stepped into the briefing room onboard the dreadnaught _Yavin Victory_. It was a high-ceilinged room with stadium-style benches running along one wall, and a podium and holo-emitter at the far wall. The two pilots walked up to the forth row bench and took a seat. There were various other senior officers milling about. Princess Leia and General Rieekan were standing close to the podium, along with a sandy-bearded officer Luke had never seen before. Leia caught his eye and smiled, then turned back to the conversation she was involved in.

"Any idea what's brewing, boss?" Wedge asked. Though technically not a command officer, squadron executive officers were included in mission briefings in case they should need to assume command before or during the mission.

Luke shook his head, still looking around the room. "Nope. I just know it's supposed to be big." He nodded towards Rieekan. "That was the General's word for it."

Conversation died down as Mon Mothma walked in, seemingly gliding across the room in her flowing white robes. The Mon Calamari Admiral Ackbar was in tow.

General Rieekan stepped over to the podium and tapped a switch, causing a soft chime to ring twice. "This briefing will begin now. Please note that all subject matter covered here is classified and not to be discussed with subordinates." He stepped back, and Mom Mothma took her place at the podium.

"It is a pleasure to see you all. This will be our first full staff briefing since the Hoth evacuation. While I mourn those lost in the battle, I am grateful to see so many of our finest men and women here—alive, and ready to fight another day."

A polite round of applause rose up and quickly faded.

"After so many tragic endings at our planetary bases, it has been determined that we will operate on the move, going forward. The fleet will be our central base. We will remain mobile, jumping to and from coordinates based on an algorithm which we will provide each of you with. This will obviously present new logistical challenges, but I will leave the details for General Rieekan to discuss with you later on. For right now, I would like to reveal our new primary offensive."

The lights dimmed and the holo-emitter came to life, displaying a galactic map with three locations highlighted. A mission title was written across the top.

"Operation Triple Blade," she said, "is a three-prong mission, in which each of the components will ultimately culminate in a crippling blow against the Imperial military."

"In which sector?" an officer asked from the front row.

Mon Mothma gave a small smile, but her eyes remained hard. "The Imperial military in its entirety."

This caused a stir throughout the group.

"Difficult to believe, I grant you, but allow me to explain," she said. "A group of specialists will be deployed to each of the locations indicated on the map." She tapped a key on the control pad and a planet shot forward, enlarged against the backdrop of the galaxy.

"As many of you know, the dissident movement on Sullust has been gaining speed for several years, ever since the elitist group controlling the SoroSuub corporation allied itself with the Empire. I don't have to tell you the benefits to having an Alliance-friendly movement taking control of their manufacturing operations." She turned to Leia. "To that end, Princess Leia Organa will be leading a team to provide aid to the dissidents."

Leia nodded and stepped forward. "We will mostly be serving in an advisory capacity, allowing their people to benefit from our experience in waging war against a materially superior force. I will be helping them structure their group into a cell network, while Major Derlin and his men will train them in conducting guerilla offensives." She stepped back.

Mon Mothma nodded and struck another key. Sullust faded back into the map, and a blue world surged forward to take its place.

"Admiral Ackbar and I will be returning to Mon Calamari for final talks with their naval commanders. For decades, the Mon Calamari have managed to maintain a standoff with the Imperial fleet, never allowing their world to be conquered. This is due largely to their own impressive fleet of capital ships, each one nearly the equal of an Imperial-class star destroyer." She paused and looked away from the map to the assembly. "The Mon Calamari have agreed to provide the Alliance with several of these cruisers."

This caused another stir. Wedge turned to Luke. "Nice," he said. Luke smiled tightly and nodded in agreement. They would finally have a fleet to reckoned with—one that could engage Imperial sector fleets in real combat, not just hit-and-fade ops.

There was an electricity in the room that was palpable. Officers were grinning widely and gesturing enthusiastically. Mon Calamari shrunk back into the map and things began to simmer down a bit.

"Forgive me if this last portion seems like a dramatic unveiling," she said. The last murmurs of conversation died out. "But I was afraid discussing it before now would create a lasting distraction. I think you'll understand my concerns in a moment."

She tapped a key and a third planet leapt forward, a green one.

Wedge turned to Luke again. "Where the hell is Endor?"

Luke shook his head. He was focusing on a large metal power core orbiting the planet. It gave him a cold feeling in his stomach.

"This holo-image came from a source on Bothawui that I swore not to reveal, even in the context of this meeting." Mon Mothma swallowed and cleared her throat. "The power core you see orbiting Endor is believed to be the first component in a new Death Star."

This statement was met with dead silence—painful silence, where the buzz of overhead lighting and the low hum of electronics constitute deafening noise. A whispered curse word floated down from one of the upper benches.

Luke and Wedge exchanged a silent, morbid look. They had been the only men in their squadron to survive the assault on the first Death Star.

General Rieekan stepped over the podium and Mon Mothma made room for him. He leaned into the microphone. "Luckily for us," he said, "we happen to have a pilot on staff who specializes in killing Death Stars."

It was as though Rieekan had popped a balloon. Cheers roared up and people clapped and whistled. Cries of 'Luke' and 'Skywalker' could be heard from all sides. Luke felt his face warm and looked down with an embarrassed smile. Wedge clapped him on the back, jostling a small laugh out of him. Luke looked up and saw Leia beaming at him with adoration.

Chaste adoration. And once again, to his own surprise, he found he was completely fine with that.

"Thank you, General," Mon Mothma said as Rieekan walked back to stand among the other commanders. "I'm certain we all needed that," she said with a smile. The noise level died back down.

"Now," she continued, "there is obviously a good deal of work to be done before we can unleash Commander Skywalker upon this budding monstrosity. To that end, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you the newest addition to our senior staff. Like many of our ranks, he was an Imperial officer who could no longer serve in good conscience and chose to defect. He had taken several actions against the Empire prior to leaving, and the intelligence he provided the Alliance upon joining has proved invaluable. He comes with the highest recommendations from General Rieekan and Captain Katarn. I present to you, General Crix Madine."

There was more applause as the man Luke noted with the sand-colored beard stepped forward. Mon Mothma gestured and he stepped over the podium.

"Thank you," he said. "I appreciate the warm welcome. I will be brief, particularly since the less details I divulge, the better. In short, I will be coordinating infiltration efforts to steal design schematics for the new Death Star. Once the plans are secured, we will take that along with our bolstered star fleet," he nodded to Ackbar, "and our partnership with SoroSuub," he nodded to Leia, "and mount an assault on the Empire's greatest military resource—and destroy it." He looked out at the faces of the assembly. "It is an honor to serve with each of you."

Madine stepped away from the podium, rejoining Rieekan and Leia. Mon Mothma resumed her place.

"These are exciting times," she said. "One by one, opportunities have presented themselves, and we must rise to every occasion. If each of us can hold fast to our commitment, our stamina, and our faith in the principles and way of life we fight for, then we shall be victorious. May the force be with us all."

There was more applause and officers rose from their seats, shaking hands with their comrades. Rieekan stepped over the podium one last time. "All unit commanders not currently assigned to Triple Blade will receive fleet assignments from me in the next twenty-four hours. I remind you this meeting is classified. Dismissed."

"I'm reeling from all of this," Wedge said. "What should we be doing?"

Luke turned to him and smiled. "We keep training. But harder."

Wedge's eyes widened a bit. "Harder?"

"I have a few ideas."

**IV.**

Darth Vader was once more a being driven by purpose.

That purpose was to destroy each of those people his son held dear.

As Luke's power grew, those around him would either seek to manipulate him for their own gain, or try to kill him when his abilities became too threatening to them.

He would spare Luke the downward spiral that had claimed his own life in the last days of the Clone Wars. He would be able to remember his friends as just that—friends—untainted by lies and agendas. And when he had mourned enough, and was ready to start down a new path in his life, his father would be there with an outstretched hand.

Han Solo, for all intents and purposes, was gone. Time permitting, Vader would arrange for that end to become permanent. There were no doubt many other comrades that Luke considered friends, but by Vader's estimation, the key lay in dispatching two people.

Master Yoda and Princess Leia Organa.

Vader had just logged off of the holonet after setting a plan in motion for Organa.

And now, with his hands resting on the helm controls, Vader reached out with the force, and conjured all of the memories, feelings, and sensations he associated with Master Yoda from his other life.

With all that had happened in the past weeks—having discovered the truth about his wife's death, and his son's birth—with all of the introspection as he delved into his own mind, searching for his true purpose—he was more open to the living force than he had been in decades.

He concentrated on Yoda. He could see his small, clawed hands wrapped around a gnarled cane. He could see the soft, fine layer of white fur that covered his ears.

He could see him standing in a swamp brimming with wildlife of every kind imaginable, looking through the mist, and through the clouds. Looking at the ebb and flow of the universe.

Unconsciously, Vader set the navicomputer to manual mode, and launched his TIE Advanced into hyperspace towards a destination he could not name.

Towards an uncharted planet called Dagobah.

**V.**

Jedi Master Yoda stood in a swamp brimming with wildlife of every kind imaginable, looking through the mist, and through the clouds. Looking at the ebb and flow of the universe.

His small, clawed hands were wrapped around a gnarled cane. The soft, fine layer of white fur that covered his ears caught the gentle breeze coming off of the murky water.

As he communed with the galaxy, all manner of creatures emerged from the fog, forming a loose perimeter around him. Predator and prey sat quietly and peacefully together, perhaps aware at some primal level that they were close to something remarkable—something that transcended nature and instinct.

Yoda's essence traveled through the sky, through space and time, through life and death. He had been reaching out towards his new padawan, when he sensed something else reaching towards _him_. Something dark and twisted, but strangely familiar.

_Vader._

He shivered. He blinked. His eyes refocused. The assembled creatures did the same, and then began to turn and head back into the Dagobah foliage, to resume their normal existences.

Yoda let out a ragged, tired breath.

_Too weak, am I._

After decades of nothing but peaceful meditation, the training of Luke Skywalker had taken a lot out of him. He clearly was not shielding his presence as well as he once had.

And now a sick and dangerous man was on his way.

Master Yoda, now nine-hundred years old, no longer possessed the strength to fight such a man. His longtime sanctuary was about to be discovered by a Sith Lord.

There was only one thing left that he could do.

_**To be continued…**_


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian was in the pitch black again, but this time, he knew exactly where he was. He was hanging upside down by his ankles, with his hands tied behind his back.

_Fifty-four._

As for the reason it was so dark, it was because his head was submerged in a steel vat of water. He had been there for about a minute, by his count.

_Sixty-two._

The key was to avoid panic. Lando was a professional gambler, and every game had its players, its rules, and its gambits.

_Seventy-nine. _

Right now, the players were Boba Fett and himself. The rules were that Fett could do anything he wanted to hurt him, so long as he didn't kill him or destroy his mind. Such a play would negate the whole purpose of torture—the game—because the purpose was to make him talk. And as a rule, dead men don't talk.

_Ninety seconds._

The gambit Fett was working was that Lando would panic, and forget how the game was played. If he panicked completely, he would say anything and everything, thus ending the game, and shortly thereafter, his life.

Fortunately, Lando recognized his bluff. A human being could be deprived of oxygen for up to four minutes without serious risk. And it had only been—

_What was the count?_

As Lando fought to remember, he began to have his first real sense of disorientation. He bent at the abdomen, trying to pull his torso upwards—hoping to bring his head up along with it, and maybe get a little air.

It didn't work. His shoulders came up out of the water, but his chin didn't even break the surface. He tried as hard as he could, and when his muscles gave out, his head swung back through the water and struck the inside of the vat, knocking loose the last bit of air he'd been holding onto in a flurry of bubbles.

He jerked his shoulders backward and forward, but he remained totally submerged in the cool, sloshing darkness. The pressure in his chest was becoming all he could think about.

_Focus. Don't panic._

As he tried not to succumb to the feeling that his lungs would implode, a disturbing thought came to him:

_What if this isn't the game I think it is? What if he wants me to die?_

In that moment, all rational thought was obliterated by instinct. His entire body began to thrash violently and spasmodically. Muscles he didn't know about strained relentlessly. Even through the churning water, he could hear the wild clinking of his chains—

Lando burst upwards out of the water. The pulley screeched to a halt and he swung back and forth in a loose circle over the vat. He sucked air desperately.

A hand grabbed his hair and yanked him forward.

"Where is he?" the metallic voice demanded.

"Who?" Lando coughed. "You still haven't told me—

The wooden shoot struck him across the face.

"Where is he?"

"Fracking _who?_" Lando hollered. "Han? Skywalker?"

"You know who."

"Oh, obviously, you psychopath—

He took a punch in the temple.

"Who?" Lando fired back.

Another punch.

"_Who?_"

"Boba Fett!" his captor said.

"What the_ hell _are you talking about?" Lando demanded. "You are Boba—

"No!" The bounty hunter released the fistful of Lando's hair and stepped back to slap a control panel on the wall. The regular lights came up, and for the first time, Lando could see his captor clearly.

The bounty hunter was compact and agile, like Fett, but the helmet was very different. It looked almost like a wolf's head with a narrow slit for the eyes. The crown was completely flat, and apparently contained some advanced sensor gear.

"Who are you?"

The being trembled with fury. "I am called Boushh," the growling, filtered voice said. "I work with Fett. You and your Wookiee tried to kill him on Tal Chora. He got away, and we were going to meet on Veraant. He never arrived, but you did."

"I thought Fett always worked alone."

Boushh cracked him across the chest with the stick. "I don't give damn what you think. You're going to tell me what you did to him or I swear I will come at you with pain you couldn't take for a minute, and make you feel it for a month. Your constant, blinding agony will be my sole purpose in life."

Lando dangled in silence for a moment.

"Boushh?"

"What?"

"I'll tell you the truth, but you won't like it, and you won't want to believe it."

Boushh moved in close. "Speak."

Lando swallowed. This wasn't going to be pretty, but he needed get under this guy's skin enough that he'd start making mistakes. "I've never heard of you. That makes you too small-time to work with Fett. Even one-percent of the Solo bounty would be too much to share with a decoy. You got him out of Tal Chora and now he's done with you."

"You know nothing," Boushh answered. "And you're about to die."

"I know he wouldn't even let you breath near Solo on your best day. That's why he's already counting the reward money while you putter around—

The bounty hunter went berserk.

Shouting Ubesian curses, Boushh whipped him over and over with the sharpened wooden shoot. The air filled with swooping sounds and Lando's involuntary cries of pain. The stick struck his face, his torso, his arms and legs—each hit made the sickening sound of flesh being slapped and torn.

Any professionalism on Boushh's part was completely gone as the stick was swung again and again. The bounty hunter didn't even seem to realize that the thin wood rod was beginning to buckle and fracture. On one particularly brutal shot to Lando's head, it shattered into pieces. In a final burst of rage, Boushh brought a tremendous punch to Lando's jaw, jarring him senseless.

Shoulders heaving with exertion, the bounty hunter reached up and released the latch that held Lando's ankles to the pulley above. He crashed down like a heavy sack on top of the broken shards of the wooden shoot. Boushh kicked him repeatedly until he had been rolled and shoved back into his compartment in the wall.

Once more, the door slid shut, leaving a beaten and bloody gambler barely conscious in the darkness. Before he passed out, a pair of questions came to him:

_So where am I? _

_And where the hell is Boba Fett? _

**II.**

Mara Jade and Ysanne Isard kneeled side by side in front of the Emperor's throne.

"Welcome, my dears," he said. "I have summoned both of you because we have mutual business to discuss, and mutual goals to be accomplished. You may rise."

"I am ready to execute your will, my master," Mara said before coming up off of her knee.

"As am I, your Excellency," Isard said, giving Mara a sidelong glare. As Director of Intelligence, she undoubtedly felt her rank gave her the right to respond first. Mara wasn't overly concerned with her estimation of rights.

"I needn't remind either of you that there is a rebellion to be crushed," the Emperor began. "But one cannot crush what cannot be found." He paused and looked at Isard.

"Detection and infiltration efforts are underway, as always, Excellency. But I would be remiss if I did not point out the disappointing missed opportunities of the military in recent weeks."

"Continue," he said.

"The fleet failed to contain the rebels at Hoth. By all accounts, Lord Vader executed a brilliant trap at Bespin, ensnaring Organa, Solo, and Skywalker—any of whom would have constituted a key intelligence source for interrogation. As it stands, we have not one of them in custody."

"It is most disappointing, I agree," the Emperor said. "But I must point out that matters are not nearly so cut and dry when the Jedi become involved. Even a fledgling Jedi."

"Of course, your Excellency," Isard answered. "However, I must protest Lord Vader's decision to release Captain Solo to a bounty hunter before the other prisoners were secured." Her annoyance came through clearly in her voice. "Now that we are left empty handed, the loss of that source is all the more galling."

"And yet we know precisely where Solo can be found," he pointed out. "Surely you can arrange to have him collected." He shifted his gaze to Mara and smiled.

"Unless of course Jabba has already thawed and dispatched him," Mara said.

The Emperor's eyes looked past each of them for a moment and an expression of concentration came over him.

"No, he lives," he said. He turned again to Isard. "Director?"

"I agree Solo could be retaken with relative ease. But at this point, I am concerned about making a move that would be taken as an insult to the Hutt syndicates. They have been a vital source in intelligence gathering since the founding of the New Order. Solo could be extremely valuable to us, but at the end of the day, he's a smuggler who may well have been kept at arms length from the most sensitive Alliance information. I'm doubtful that the tradeoff would be worthwhile if it meant having our Hutt affiliations go cold."

The Emperor nodded. "Your estimation of the situation may well be quite valid."

"Thank you, your Excellency."

"But at the end of the day, as you put it, the Hutts are simply alien trash that provide the occasional minor service to the Empire." He eased back into his throne. "I agree that at this time, the tradeoff may not be equitable. But the time may come to reclaim our frozen smuggler, depending on what assets may be taken in the coming months. Contact Jabba the Hutt and request that Captain Solo be returned. His species' stubbornness will undoubtedly cause him to refuse, but he will likely offer a compromise. Have him use his influence with the Bounty Hunter Guild to step up searches for essential rebels—you may determine the names on that list, but make sure Skywalker is among them."

"It will be done, Excellency," Isard said.

He turned to Mara. "And you, my child, will continue your mission to deal with young Skywalker. If you do not turn up any promising leads, proceed to Tatooine and infiltrate the Hutt palace. It stands to reason that Skywalker and his friends will go there eventually to liberate their comrade. Such an opportunity is not to be missed. For that reason alone it is worth leaving Solo in place for now."

Mara instantly recalled her vision of Skywalker and Solo in the desert. She wanted to discuss it with him, but not in front of the woman commonly known as 'Iceheart.' "Yes, my master."

Mara exchanged a glance with Isard, and then continued. "Master, if it is acceptable, there are a few loose ends from the Clak'Dor operation that I'd like to see to. It may be conducive to my overall mission to take Skywalker."

"We will discuss Clak'Dor at a later time, child. In the meantime, operate at your own discretion. Contact me when the loose ends are tied and apprise me of your next moves."

"As you command, my master."

The Emperor's herald emerged from the shadows at the bottom of the stairway. "Forgive me, your Excellency, but there is a communication coming in from Lord Vader."

"Both of you may go. Carry out my will."

They each bowed.

**III.**

Princess Leia Organa walked along _Yavin Victory's_ portside companionway towards the cargo bay that Luke and his squadron had been using for training. She arrived at the door and reached for the release, but hesitated at the last moment. From what she had heard, these 'sessions' had been getting more and more intense—it would probably be prudent to not just strut in blindly.

She placed her ear up against the door, and could hear the piercing shots of practice blasters and muffled shouts. She sighed. The last thing she needed before the long trip to Sullust was a sting bolt in her backside, but she wasn't going on a six-month mission without first saying goodbye to Luke.

She hit the release and hopped back against the wall as the door slid open. The blaster fire continued uninterrupted, and she could now make out the instructions being shouted by Wedge Antilles as he coordinated the assault. She slowly peered through the doorway, and her jaw dropped a few centimeters at what she was seeing.

At one end of the bay, all the pilots in Rogue Squadron—not just Luke's closest friends—were firing from various positions of cover. At the opposite end, Luke stood alone, titanium beam in hand, deflecting their shots back at them.

But that wasn't all—the bay floor was littered with palm-sized balls from the ship's recreation area. As his squad mates assaulted him, Luke countered by using the force to launch these projectiles at their positions. The rubber balls pelted the attackers like a meteor shower, keeping them pinned behind their barrels and containers. As one of the pilots popped up from behind cover to take a shot, a ball knocked the blaster clear out of his hand just as a deflected bolt struck him in the chest, causing him to yelp and go down on his back.

"Down!" He shouted.

"Luke, it's Leia!" she called out over the din.

"Time!" Luke called.

The blaster fire stopped and the men and women of the squadron emerged from cover, most of them rubbing some sore part of their body, all of them dripping with sweat.

Luke jogged over to the doorway. "Hey," he said, only slightly out of breath.

"Hi," she answered.

Wes Janson opened a cooler set against the wall. "You going to be a few minutes, Master Skywalker?"

Luke smiled. "Yeah, everybody take five. I'll be back shortly to handle the rest of you."

There was some grumbling as they helped themselves to water bottles and towels. Luke and Leia stepped outside and let the door slide shut behind them.

"So what's up?" Luke asked.

"I'm leaving for Sullust in an hour."

Luke nodded and folded her in an embrace. She put her head against his chest.

"You be careful," he said.

"I will."

As she pulled away, Luke saw tears welling up.

"What is it?"

She swiped at her eyes, annoyed and embarrassed. "I just wanted to hear something from Chewie and Lando before I left. I mean it's been _weeks_ and not even a word."

"I know. I'm worried too." Luke looked down at the floor. "I don't usually talk about this stuff, but… with all the training I've been doing, I can sense things. I can sense people. I, um—I think if the worst had happened—I would feel it."

Leia nodded. She sniffled a bit. "Thanks, Luke."

Luke smiled and rubbed her arm gently. "Give them hell out there."

"I always do." She gestured towards the cargo bay. "From what I'm seeing, Vader will be lucky to crawl away from his next run-in with you."

Luke knew she was baiting him—looking for a reaction. He wasn't surprised and he took no offense. It was who she was. She couldn't stand the thought of someone close to her suffering in solitude. And yet it was her own standard mode of operation. It was what made her such a great leader.

"I'm working on it," he said simply. "A real lightsaber would help."

"I know. It'll come."

"Yeah. Soon, I hope."

She gave him a small smile and turned to walk away.

"May the force be with you," Luke said after her.

She turned back.

"May it be with us all."

**IV.**

In a dark, lonely piece of space between Tal Chora and Veraant, a battered Mandalorian _Pursuer_ was adrift. Within it, Boba Fett worked fervently on a damaged hyperdrive.

_Six days_, he thought bitterly. _Six days lost_.

And if he wasn't extremely lucky, it would be a great deal more. Syrella's ship had taken quite a beating during the dogfight with the _Millennium Falcon_. They had switched ships back on Tal Chora and moved the precious cargo into the _Pursuer's_ hold. The plan had been that Syrella would flush out any would-be rescuers with _Slave I_, which everyone would assume contained the bounty. Fett would be following close behind in her ship, ready to take out anyone who made a move against her. Calrissian had taken the bait, and Fett had attacked, but it did not go exactly as planned.

He had to admit that he was taken completely off guard by the _Falcon's_ missile shot in the tunnel. The resulting breach had caused an explosive decompression, throwing him into a nearly unrecoverable spin, and allowing the _Falcon_ to pound away at him unchallenged.

At least until Syrella arrived with _Slave I_ and put a pair of concussion missiles up the freighter's ass. Even in his frustration, Fett couldn't help but smile.

_My girls in action, watching my back. _

He turned away from the engines and looked across the hold. Off to the side, floating on load-lifters, was the frozen form of Han Solo.

Fett had reached a high point in his life. He was undisputedly the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy—a worthy successor to his father's legacy. He had just taken the crowning prize of his career. And he was in love with Syrella Boushh, an up-and-coming bounty hunter who was as ruthless and deadly as she was loyal and beautiful.

He had it all planned out. He would deliver Solo to Jabba and tell him he was taking some time off. He would take his fortune and buy a small moon somewhere. He would marry Syrella and they would track down some of the elusive Kamino clone masters that had survived the war. And they would create two children—one clone of him, and one of her. It would be one hell of a family.

But if he couldn't manage to fix the hyperdrive, that future would be lost.

As it stood, he had just finished welding the coupler for the alluvial dampers. If the seal was good, he could make the jump to lightspeed. If it wasn't, he'd blow up the ship trying.

All things considered, what weighed on him most was knowing how worried Syrella must be. He was four days overdue. The comm. system had been destroyed in the last battle, so there was no way he could get a message to her.

She was not a patient person. And her anxiety turned quickly into vicious anger. He only hoped she would hole up somewhere safe and wait for him, and not get in over her head trying to find him.

He turned off the welding torch and looked at his work. It was as good as he could make it. There was nothing else to do but give it hell.

Fett returned to the cockpit and keyed the coordinates into the navicomputer. He put a gloved hand on the jump-throttle. He had no religious beliefs, and didn't believe in destiny, faith, or luck.

_This will either work, or I'll never know it didn't._

He pulled back the jump-throttle.

**V.**

Darth Vader's TIE Advanced plunged into the dense gray clouds of Dagobah's atmosphere. Visibility was zero, and sensors were non-operational.

But Vader had the force to guide him, and right now the presence of Master Yoda was like a beacon telling him exactly where to go. His hand checked the lightsaber clipped to his belt. It was not the first time he had done so since emerging from hyperspace.

Fear was a potent fuel for one's dark side powers, but it was not something a man of Vader's position often had the opportunity to draw on. Then again, it was not often that he was poised to challenge the greatest Jedi Master of all time.

_Just an ancient little bug now_, Vader told himself. _A long spent relic of_—

He was gone.

The presence of Yoda had completely disappeared.

At that moment, Vader's ship burst through the cloud cover, and a murky lake rushed up at him. He pulled up hard on the yoke, and the TIE's long, flat wings skipped off of the water and hurtled forward along the surface. Vader fired the breaking thrusters on full and was thrown hard against his harness. He looked out of the canopy.

Directly in front of him was a small clay hut. The flickering light of a fire within lit the windows and doorway.

He eased the ship down on the muddy bank. It slid back a few meters, and then settled.

Vader unhooked his saber and gripped it tightly. He continued to watch the hut. He could see no signs of activity. He still sensed nothing.

Vader released his harness and popped the top hatch. The sounds of myriad swamp creatures came, along with a light drizzle, but nothing else.

He leapt straight up out of the hatch and ignited his crimson blade in mid-air. His cloak flapped wildly behind him as he soared through his downward arc. His boots struck mud just in front of Yoda's home, and he crouched in a combat stance.

For several moments, Vader remained that way, listening to the wildlife, straining to detect any sign of the ambush he had to assume was waiting for him. Seconds stretched out for what seemed like an eternity, and still there was no response to his arrival.

Vader straightened up and walked briskly towards the hut, lightsaber humming menacingly. The entire structure was less than two meters high and little more than double that in diameter. A being of Yoda's size required little space.

With no challenge or battle cry, Vader brought back his saber and made a horizontal slash across the dome of the hut's roof. The red blade passed through the clay like it wasn't even there. Vader extended his left hand, and used a force-push to shove the top section off of the base, sending it crashing down to the ground. Bringing his weapon up into a high guard position, Vader loomed over the wall of the hut and looked down into its exposed interior.

There was some simple wood furniture, a small bed, and an iron cauldron hanging over the fireplace. The smoke from the low fire billowed freely, as Vader had taken off the chimney. Yoda was nowhere to be seen, but there was something else of interest:

Yoda's robes, undergarments, and gnarled cane lay across the floor. They lay in a strange pattern, not looking at all like they had been discarded. They lay as though the owner should be sprawled out right there, within them.

A memory flashed into Vader's mind: his last duel with Obi-wan aboard the Death Star. The old man had given up, and had raised his lightsaber in solute. With Mustafar at the forefront of his mind, he had struck without hesitation. As his blade connected with Kenobi's neck, he had reveled in his vengeance, expecting the traitor's head to roll.

But he was denied that satisfaction. Obi-wan had vanished instantly upon his death, leaving only empty robes and a lightsaber at Vader's feet. It was undoubtedly some Jedi death rite that he had kept hidden from him.

And now Yoda's robes lay empty, and his presence was completely gone.

_Can he truly be dead?_

Vader vehemently distrusted the convenient coincidence, and this had to be the hugest one of all time. He had traveled half way across the galaxy to take on the last and the greatest of the Jedi order, all the while wondering if he actually had the power to defeat him. And after all of that, the master who had survived nine-hundred years worth of trials drops dead when Vader is seconds away from their encounter. And the end result was exactly what he wanted—Yoda was dead, the Emperor was appeased, Luke was without a mentor, and Vader was free to find him. It could not have been packaged more neatly.

At the same time, however, a Jedi of Yoda's prowess could not easily shield his presence. If Vader could detect him from light years away, there is no way he could escape detection from this range. Even if Yoda had allowed himself to be found, now that Vader was here, there could be no hiding—at least not without there being some aura, some trace of him.

Vader reached out with his senses once more. And once more, there was absolutely nothing.

One way or another, Master Yoda was gone.

_**To be continued…**_


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

**I.**

Boushh paced up and down the short corridor between _Slave I's_ prison compartments and the cargo hold. She paced like a caged animal, radiating anger and turmoil.

It had been a week now, and no word from Boba. She had bribed traffic controllers on Veraant, and in Mos Espa and Mos Eisley. Not one of them had detected any sign of a _Firespray_ breaking atmosphere.

She broke stride and glared at one of the sealed compartment doors. Calrissian was behind that door. Whatever was left of him.

He knew something about Boba. And if he didn't, then he was still responsible for his being missing. Either way, he more than deserved what was coming next.

She produced a tool and thumbed it on. A small blue flame lit at the nozzle.

When this session was over, she would know for sure what he knew. He would beg to tell her everything he'd ever known, and to learn anything else he might be missing.

After all, what other response could there be to having the soles of your feet burned off?

She walked up to the compartment door, sizzling torch in hand. Its blue light bathed her wolfish helmet and reflected brightly off of the narrow visor. She keyed in the door release from a control pad on her belt.

The door slid upwards.

Lando lunged up with it like a vicious animal. His hands were bound at the wrists, and he swung both arms together like a club, smashing Boushh under the snout of her helmet. The blow lifted her off of the floor and she landed flat on her back. Her helmet was knocked off kilter, exposing the flesh of her throat.

Lando leapt onto her, his knees impacting on her abdomen, forcing a sharp wretch from his captor. He brought his arms up over his head, and in his shackled hands he held something small:

The pointed end from Boushh's broken torture stick.

He slammed it down into her jugular.

Boushh spasmed violently, but Lando's weight kept her pinned. After a few seconds, her flailing slowed. A few seconds after that, it stopped completely.

"Go to hell," Lando said hoarsely. He let go of the shiv. He pulled the helmet off.

A long shock of black hair cascaded out onto the deck. Cat-like eyes that had once burned with intensity were now blank and empty.

It was a woman. He had never entertained even a moment's thought that it could be a woman. It wasn't supposed to be a woman. He got off of her and sat heavily on the deck.

"Frack me."

Not many people understood Lando, or rather, not many people understood the beliefs and the code that governed his otherwise unstructured, undisciplined lifestyle.

Lando enjoyed women—just like any other man, only more so. He was generally considered a lady's man by his friends, and a womanizer by those who were not.

There was no arguing that he kept company—made time—whatever euphemism one favored—with a lot of women. Some people saw that as disrespectful.

The way he saw it was that he revered women. He wanted to experience as many women as he could that interested him—that fascinated him.

But whatever anyone made of that philosophy and practice, one point of fact was indisputable: Lando Calrissian never physically harmed a woman. The idea of attacking a woman, abusing a woman, even taking advantage of a woman, was completely repugnant to him. He was not a man who hurt women.

Until now.

He looked at her lifeless eyes, at the wooden stake jutting out of her neck, and felt ill. First Han and now this. Where would it end?

A slight noise caught his attention and he looked off to the right.

The small torch was laying on the deck, its blue flame casting a soft glow on the dark corridor. He slid along the floor to where it lay, and turned it off. He considered for a moment, and then looked back at Boushh.

_This was no regular woman. She was going to burn me alive to help her cope with Fett's disappearance. That was what would make her feel better. She was a damned monster._

And with that, he pushed the issue from his mind. He didn't know it was a woman, he would have preferred that it wasn't, but at the end of the day, she got it better and quicker than she deserved. And he had business to see to.

He dragged himself over to the vat of water that he had had the pleasure of experiencing during their last session. He had no idea how long ago that had been, but he knew he hadn't had any water since. He reached a hand in and greedily brought it to his chapped lips. After several swallows, he made himself stop to catch his breath.

With the most immediate threat having been removed, he took a minute to examine his surroundings. He knew he was on a ship. He studied it's interior lines and infrastructure.

_I'll be damned. This is a_ Firespray.

_This is_ Slave I.

Lando, naked, bruised, and bleeding, pulled himself up to standing. All of his muscles were sore—for reasons beyond the obvious. He had spent agonizing hours contorting himself in his cell. He had finally been able to pull his bound wrists from behind his back to under his feet, and then back around front. He had palmed a wooden shard after the last beating. He had been crouched in wait, ready to launch himself in attack. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, and was being replaced by exhaustion.

He hobbled over to the cockpit ladder. He climbed up, emerging just behind the pilot's seat and the main canopy.

They were landed in a dark, rocky canyon. Beyond its walls, at the canyon's mouth, he could see a sliver of desert landscape and bright daylight.

Framed in the center of that view, just above the horizon line, were a pair of blazing suns.

_Tatooine._

For having suffered worse than he had ever suffered in his life, this had just turned into one hell of a convenient side trip.

_So Fett was on the _Pursuer_ that jumped us at Tal Chora. The ship I felt was safe to pound on because Han would have to be with Fett on _his_ ship._

Which meant that Han was with Fett on the _other_ ship. A badly damaged ship, that now had gone missing. As much as it galled him to pray for Fett's safety, he did so, because it was the only chance of getting Han back.

For now, he needed to get some clothes and some gear, and make his way to Mos Eisley. He needed to get word to Chewie and Lobot, to let them know he was alive and that the plan was in motion. He'd copy Luke on the transmission.

Lando wasn't sure where they were relative to the space port, but he knew he did not want to arrive in a notorious ship like _Slave I_—that would be of no help in establishing his new identity as a small-time thug. There was also the issue of access. He struck a few keys on the console. As he suspected, everything was locked down, awaiting an access code that had been lost with his former host.

He went back down the ladder to the main hold. He walked around, but could not find any trace of his clothing or effects. Every door, every hatch, and every cabinet was locked.

He walked back over to Boushh's body, and began to search for anything of use. He found the keys to his handcuffs and took them off. She had a vibroblade knife tucked into her boot, but no blaster. Finally, he came up with the control pad. None of the buttons were labeled, or arranged in any obvious fashion.

His dilemma was this: if he started hitting random buttons, there was no telling what type of response he might get. He had to assume some of these keys initiated defensive measures. If he didn't find the one that opened the outer door on the first couple of key strokes, he could end up in a very bad spot.

That being said, he also couldn't just wait around for Fett to show up and find that he'd killed his partner. He would have to roll the dice, just like he always did.

But first, he needed some essentials. He was not foolish enough to try walking out into the desert without clothing or water.

He looked down at Boushh. She was fairly compact—there was no way any of her clothing was going to fit him, at least in its current state. He removed her armor plating, and then, respectfully, he removed her outermost layer of clothing.

His suspicions were correct- nothing came even close to fitting. He pulled the vibroblade from her boot-holster and went to work on the pants and shirt.

When he had finished, he had cut the sleeves off of the shirt and slit it down the front, creating a vest that would protect his back, but left his chest largely exposed. The pants were elastic in nature, and though they were way too short, they covered his lower half to just below the knee. He wrapped the severed shirt sleeves around his head at the ears, and around his neck.

He had no doubt that he looked absolutely ridiculous.

Next, he needed water. There was, of course, a vat full of water at his disposal, but no way to take it with him. He looked around for something to use as a container.

What he ultimately came up with was Boushh's helmet.

He submerged it upside down in the tank, and then lifted it out, water sloshing at the rim. Nothing leaked from the crown. He estimated there were at least a couple of liters within.

And so, with a body partially covered by rags, and what felt like a fishbowl under his arm, Lando took the control pad and aimed it at the outer door. He tapped the first key. No response. He tapped another, and then another.

Gas started hissing out of recessed nozzles in the ceiling.

"Damn it!" Lando held his breath and started frantically hitting buttons.

With a deep clang, the outer door slid up.

He made a dash for it, careful not to spill too much of the water. He made his way down the integrated gangway on the ship's hull and reached the cool rock floor of the shaded canyon. He looked back up the ramp. Green gas was billowing out of the door, but had already begun to fade into a light steam. The tanks must have emptied.

He turned and looked at the mouth of the canyon a few hundred meters away. One of the two suns had already dipped below the horizon. Night was approaching.

As he began walking, he heard the skittering of claws on stone. He turned back and saw a pack of large, dog-like scavengers approach the ship—womp rats, he believed they were called. The gas had largely dissipated, and the leader skulked up the ramp and into the hold. Lando had an idea of what would happen next.

A minute later, the womp rat backed out of the door, dragging Boushh's body by the ankle. When they reached the bottom of the ramp, the rest of the pack converged.

Lando turned back towards the horizon, and ignored the sounds of their feasting.

A minute later, he emerged on the sandy plains of the Tatooine desert. He scanned the terrain, and due east, he could see the faint glistening of a city. Very faint. It was at least fifty kilometers away.

He had spent the last several days having the hell beaten out of him, and this trek seemed like the last thing he could manage. But he had no choice.

When the second sun dropped behind the dunes, he would start walking.

**II.**

Wedge and Tycho sat across from Hobbie and Janson at a table in _Yavin Victory's_ mess hall.

"I'm just saying there's something off about him, that's all," Janson said.

"Such as?" Wedge asked.

"He's different."

Wedge shook his head. "I think you're just getting tired of having your butt handed to you on a daily basis. I can relate. But there's nothing wrong with him."

Janson chewed quickly and waived his hand back and forth in disagreement. "It's more. That…" he swallowed the bite. "That light in his eyes—the whole 'I'm from Tatooine and I can't believe I'm the big hero' thing that we all love him for—it's gone from him. He's all solemn and business-like." Hobbie nodded in agreement.

Wedge set his fork down and looked at each of them. "Luke had his hand chopped off. His best friend was frozen in carbonite. And now, with this new damn Death Star coming, everyone's looking to him for an encore performance of the biggest fracking miracle in history. I think you might lose some of the spring in your step, too." He picked up his fork and went back to work on his dinner. "We all need to do two things: our duty, and let him pound on us for an hour a day. It's the way he's working through the stress." He looked back up. "He's Luke Skywalker. Give him some time—he'll come around."

Janson looked over at Tycho. "You have any thoughts on this matter, chatter box?"

Tycho continued chewing as though he hadn't heard Wes ask the question. He took a sip from his glass. Wes was about to repeat himself when Tycho began speaking.

"We've met the man on the other side of his moment."

Hobbie almost choked. "What the hell did you just say?"

Tycho explained. "Each of us here have a moment in our lives that shaped us. We had a feeling or an attitude or a direction that was completely changed by one defining event. Wedge wanted to be an engineer or an architect, until the moment when his parents were killed. I wanted to fly for the Empire and be a model citizen, until the government I served destroyed my home and everyone I ever knew and loved." He looked straight at Janson. "The old me—the one you never had the chance to meet—no one ever called him 'chatter box' in jest. You only know me the way I am now… on the other side of my moment."

Janson and Hobbie looked down at their plates silently.

"That's damn right," Wedge said quietly.

Tycho continued. "Something happened on Cloud City much worse than losing a hand, or even a friend. Maybe someday he'll tell us what that was. In any case, the old Luke isn't coming back. The man who's here now is it."

The four of them sat for long moment without speaking.

"Do you think we'll send off Zev and Dack?" Hobbie asked. "Give them their due?"

The send off was a Rogue Squadron tradition. When a comrade fell, the next time the remaining squad was assembled, they'd raise a glass and remember the best things about their lost friend.

"I don't know," Wedge said. "I don't think the boss can deal with it right now. But I think when the time is right, it'll happen."

"How's the food, gentlemen?"

They all looked up in surprise at Commander Luke Skywalker.

"Pretty good," Janson said, looking cautious and guilty.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, because General Rieekan says there isn't much of it left."

"Are we making a run then, Commander?" Wedge asked.

"That's what we do," Luke answered. "Get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we're hitting an Imperial supply ship. I'll see all of you in the hangar bay at oh-five-hundred."

**III.**

Chewbacca and Lobot walked up the _Millennium Falcon's_ gangway without any energy or enthusiasm in their stride. The sun was coming up over the peaks of Veraant's pine-studded mountains, and they had just put in another all-nighter trying to pick up a lead on what happened to Lando. He had gone out to find a sabaac game nearly five days ago, and had never returned.

Their investigation had been problematic to say the least. Very few people could understand the Wookiee language, and Lobot was mute. They ultimately worked out a system where Chewie would grab someone—quite literally—and Lobot would hold up a data pad listing their questions. The individual, at Chewie's urging, would answer each question before being allowed to go on their way.

They had been able to determine that Lando had cleaned out the local high-stakes sabaac game, taken his winnings, and left peaceably. It was generally assumed that if he didn't make it back to his ship, he must have been jumped for the money. Mainport was hardly a sprawling metropolis, and Chewie felt confident that if Lando had been killed, they would have been able to turn up some trace of his body. As it was, he seemed to have simply vanished.

A small part of him—the pessimistic part—couldn't help but wonder if Lando had just taken his winnings and left, leaving the Alliance, the mission, and Han behind to start a less complicated life somewhere else with his fresh pile of cash. He didn't want to believe that, but he had been in this business long enough and been double-crossed often enough that he couldn't take the possibility off of the table.

Chewie walked across the _Falcon's_ sparsely lit main hold. They had gotten the main computer and the hyperdrive back online, but habitat and environmental controls were still being run on emergency power. They would be able to leave this system at any time, but with Lando gone, the plan was shot, and they had no destination. He knew he could always contact Luke and arrange to go back to the fleet, but he couldn't bring himself to make that call—not without an operation to save Han already in motion. That was the very least his life-debt demanded.

He entered the cockpit, and his head knocked into the hanging dice as always. A flashing light on the console caught his eye.

_Incoming holonet transmission_.

He eagerly dropped into his oversized co-pilot seat and logged into the comm. system. A brief text message appeared.

LC ALIVE. LONG STORY. ARRIVED AT LAST STOP. PROCEED TO LIBRARY AS PLANNED. HIT UP FARMBOY FOR GEAR/MONEY FOR THE TRIP. WILL CONTACT AGAIN IN ONE MONTH. WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL.

And just like that, the game was back on. Chewie howled with elation, and ran back into the hold and threw his arms around Lobot. As it turned out, the cyborg did not like to be hugged. Chewie didn't let that bother him—he knew from experience that human ribs mended quickly.

Within minutes, they had lift off clearance, and had broken through the atmosphere into space. Chewie had used the algorithm Princess Leia had given them to locate the rebel fleet. It would be a long trip, but hopefully, he and Lobot could complete repairs by the time they arrived.

Off in the distance, Chewie spotted a burst of light caused by a ship emerging from hyperspace. He keyed for a scan. When the sensors got a fix, he growled in alarm at the readout.

MANDALORIAN _PURSUER_-CLASS PATROL SHIP. UNREGISTERED.

It was Fett's partner—had to be. Chewie reached for the defensive systems when a realization struck him: the weapons were all offline.

They would pass each other in less than twenty seconds. Chewie had taken the usual precaution of changing the ship's transponder code before their departure. There was always the chance they could pass for a common Corellian freighter, but the blast marks all over the hull made that unlikely.

In any event, the only other option was to run, but that would be an open invitation for attack. They had to play it close to the vest, and appear to be coming from a position of strength. Besides, they had beaten the hell out of that ship—chances were it was in worse shape than the _Falcon_.

_Five, four, three, two, one._

The _Pursuer_ soared past without making a move. It's hull was scorched as badly as theirs—it was definitely the guy they had tangled with at Tal Chora. Apparently he'd had enough of them and was happy enough to part company quietly.

An indicator to Chewie's right pinged and lit green. They had cleared Veraant's gravity well and could safely execute the jump to lightspeed.

It had only been two weeks since they had left the Alliance, but he was surprised to find how much he missed his friends. In a few days, he would see them again, and then they would take the next step in their plan to free Han.

He pulled back the lever, and the canopy was consumed by star lines.

**IV.**

Captain Devar walked past the stormtrooper standing guard outside of his cabin and stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind him.

A hard fist cracked him in the face, sending him reeling to the deck. A kick in the ribs lifted him off of his hands and knees and landed him on his back. As he reached for his sidearm, a magenta lightsaber blade ignited, the glowing tip stopping just shy of his face.

He had not had a chance to hit the lights upon entering, but in the muted glow of the saber, he could make out the mouth and cheek bones of a woman's face. An angry woman. He moved his hand well away from his holster.

"Madame agent," he said carefully.

"I'm going to give you a rare opportunity, Captain," Mara said. "You fracked me at Clak' Dor, and when you did that, you did it to the Emperor, because I am his instrument. It's _his_ lightsaber you're cowering under—we're clear on this."

"We are clear."

"Good. This is how it goes: I'm going to let you tell me every aspect of what you did and why you did it and what it leads to, and then I'm going to leave and never come back. If there's any deviation from that scenario, I'm going to take off your hands and feet with my blade, and then slash your comm. system so you can't call for help. Then you'll crawl out of here on blackened stumps squealing for help. I recommend plan A."

"Fair enough," he said calmly.

"Who's operating you? The rebellion?"

"Is that your idea of a joke?"

The saber hummed as she inched it towards him.

Devar's face showed annoyance. "Did you do any research on this ship before you showed up and started ordering its senior officers around?"

"I'm asking the questions."

"Fine, then—I'll educate you. This ship operates at the behest of Lord Vader himself, and has since before the Battle of Yavin. He personally promoted me to captain after Lord Admiral Tion was killed. We captured Princess Organa's ship at Tatooine and brought her to the Death Star for interrogation. On this ship we fight under his banner, and his word is law. And no one is closer to the Emperor than he is—instruments withstanding."

"You're Vader's man, then."

"You're damn right."

"And Vader commanded you to sabotage my mission."

"Right again."

Mara kept her lightsaber trained on him, but looked up for a moment in thought. "But why would Vader want to botch an attack on Rogue Sqaud—

It clicked. She looked down at Devar.

"Skywalker."

He nodded. "All fleet captains are under standing orders to report any operations targeted specifically against Skywalker to Lord Vader. Missions that single out his squadron fall under that category."

"So you reported to Vader. Then what?"

"He said the plan was shortsighted, but had potential. The Rogues were not to be touched, but neither would he waste an opportunity to send them home with a care package."

"The thirty-six TIE fighters?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. Lord Vader was a brilliant strategist, she had to give him that. When the Rogues jumped back to their base, they had brought an entire wing of TIEs with them.

She flicked her wrist, making the blade hum threateningly. "And what else?"

Devar nodded in appreciation. "Very good. Obviously, even a large group of TIE fighters couldn't wipe out the rebellion on its own. But we arranged for something special, as per Lord Vader."

"And that was?"

Devar was under orders not to discuss operational details, but he had no desire to lose his extremities to a short-tempered errand girl—besides, there was nothing she could do to interfere at this late stage.

"There's a single TIE bomber among the fighters. It carries a biological weapon. It will unleash a plague on the rebels and wipe out the core of their command structure—a much greater victory, I daresay, than destroying one mere X-Wing squadron."

"True enough," Mara said. "But what about the issue of Skywalker's survival?"

"The wing commander has orders not to attack until Skywalker is offsite and—

He stopped.

"And what?" she demanded.

"And Organa is confirmed onsite. That last detail was communicated to us by Lord Vader just two days ago."

"Did he give any reason to wait on her specifically?"

He shook his head. "Lord Vader only explains himself to one man in this galaxy."

**V.**

Darth Vader sat in the cockpit of his TIE Advanced in orbit of Dagobah. A hologram of the Emperor was projected above his control panel. Vader had just given his report on the apparent fate of Master Yoda. The Emperor made no immediate reply. The silence drew out painfully.

"Do you believe he is dead?" the Emperor finally asked. His tone was flat, and gave no indication of his own position on the matter.

"I find it difficult to believe, my master," Vader rumbled. "But I also cannot reach any other conclusion given the circumstances."

"Nor can I. But I do not trust coincidence—particularly such a fortuitous one."

"Yes, master."

The Emperor settled back into his throne. "I became aware of Yoda's presence just before your encounter with Skywalker at Bespin. I suspect that once he began training your offspring, he could no longer effectively shield his presence in the force. I had felt him to a lesser extent since that time, and so I dispatched you to eliminate him." The Emperor shook his head. "That presence vanished just before you contacted me. I delayed a meeting with two of my top agents to meditate—to make absolutely certain he was gone."

"Then he is dead." Vader said.

"That is what the force tells me. Still…" Vader waited for him to finish. "I loathe being in doubt, to any degree. And there is way to address all lingering concerns."

"What is your bidding, master?"

"Resume command of the fleet. Keep well informed on the progress of my new Death Star's construction. Once it is complete, test it's prime weapon on this miserable swamp world our old friend saw so fit to expire on. That will resolve the matter beyond question."

"Yes, my master."

"One other thing, Lord Vader. I do not need the force to tell me that you wish to continue searching for Skywalker." He leaned forward. "Do so, but remember the war must take priority. For all practical purposes, every soldier of the rebellion stands between you and Skywalker. Crush them all, and when the boy stands alone, we will show him the true nature of the galaxy."

Vader immediately wondered if the Emperor had gleaned his plans for isolating Luke from his mind. And if he had, what other plans for the future might he have discovered in the process? He pushed those thoughts away quickly.

"As you wish," the dark lord said.

"Return to the _Executor_. Then contact me with the details of our next campaign against the rebellion.

Vader bowed his head, and the Emperor severed the communication. The shimmering light from the hologram vanished, and Vader looked up again at the stars beyond his canopy.

This was a dangerous time. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, to get his son back, to depose the Emperor, and to finally shape this sad galaxy into something that made sense.

The problem with seeing it so clearly was that there was no way to be sure the Emperor would not come to see it as well. And he could not defeat him alone.

For now, the mission he was given suited his own objectives perfectly. That being the case, he could work to his own ends, and maintain the appearance of total loyalty to his master in the process.

Vader keyed in the coordinates for the _Executor_ and broke orbit from the murky world he was circling. He pulled back the jump-throttle, and launched into the brilliant tunnel of hyperspace.

Hopefully, appearances would be enough, until his moment came.

His moment, and Luke's.

_**To be continued…**_


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian staggered into Mos Eisley. He had walked all night in the desert, and at sun rise, he was still ten clicks shy of the city. He kept walking.

The rags he had made to cover his body hung from him in tatters, and were stained with sweat. His brown skin was reddened by sunburn, and his lips were bone dry and cracked. The unhealed lacerations from his torture sessions were caked with sand, and the souls of his feet stung from walking barefoot through the scorching Jundland Wastes.

He pushed onward down the street, chin resting on his chest. His arms hung at his sides. In his left hand, he clutched the rim of Boushh's helmet. The water he had carried within was long since gone. He was parched to a degree he had never experienced in his life—thirsty to a point where he could have smelled water if there had been a thimble-full a hundred meters away. The quest for water consumed him.

He looked absolutely horrible. The rags were so insufficient in covering him, and so soaked-through with perspiration, that he might as well have been naked. A pack of children ran up behind him giggling. The boldest boy kicked him in the ass and they all shrieked in laughter and ran off down an alley. Lando scarcely noticed.

His quest guided him to one of Mos Eisley's many bars. The clinking of glasses and the smell of ale beckoned him inside. Lando's eyes had fought against Tatooine's suns for so many hours, that when he entered the dark tavern, he may as well have stepped into the pitch black of space. He shuffled forward, more or less, occasionally bouncing off a patron and enduring a shove or a curse, neither of which registered with him.

He finally stopped when his lower half hit an unmovable barrier. Fortunately, it was the bar itself.

"What the hell do you want?" a surly voice asked.

Lando had to swallow three times before he could manage a sound. "Water."

A glass slammed against the bar. Lando heard the miraculous sound of poured liquid caressing its interior. The sound stopped quickly. Lando's hand snaked forward to grab it.

It was a shot glass. Of water.

He threw it back before he even had a chance to be disappointed. His eyes were beginning to adjust, and he could now see the cruel, amused smile of the bartender.

"Now get the hell out of here before I have you tossed. You stink, and anyone can see you don't have a credit on you—or much else."

Lando slumped on the bar, Boushh's helmet still in hand. It was all he could do to stay conscious.

"Please," he said hoarsely.

The bartender looked past Lando and motioned to someone. A few seconds later, a rough hand clamped down on Lando's arm and yanked him off of the bar. A punch in the stomach doubled him over, and the bouncer put him in a headlock. Holding him in that position, the bouncer dragged Lando to the door.

When they stepped out into the harsh light, he unceremoniously dumped Lando on the ground. "Piss off," the bouncer said, and spat on him.

Lando swung the helmet up sharply, and it clipped the bottom edge of the bouncer's armored cod piece, lifting it up and smashing what lay underneath. The bruiser cried out horribly and dropped to his knees. With reserves from his deepest depths, Lando surged forward and swung the helmet again, this time connecting solidly with the bouncer's own helmet. There was a resounding crack, like two stones being knocked together. The bouncer went down like a fallen tree.

Lando threw himself onto him and tore his helmet off—a garish copper affair with a face guard that was studded with animal fangs. Lando pummeled his face again and again until he himself might pass out—the bouncer, for his part, had been out since he'd hit the ground.

A crowd had gathered across the street, but no one seemed to want to get too close to this crazed, feral man who had walked in out of the desert. Lando began frantically removing the man's armor and clothing and bundling it in his arms, along with both helmets—for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to discard Boushh's.

Lando dashed off down an alley, leaving the bouncer in his underwear to bake in the suns. He ran around corners and across streets and through more alleys, until he felt he had gone far enough to be safe. He then found a piece of shade behind a building and collapsed into it. He clutched the stolen clothing under his head like a pillow.

He slept more deeply than ever before in his life.

-----------------------------

That evening, Lando awoke, sore as hell and still dying of thirst. He pulled on the bouncer's clothes and armor, and was relieved to find that it all fit perfectly.

Furthermore, an inspection of the pockets yielded nearly two-hundred credits—easily enough for food and lodging.

After a decent meal and several liters of water at a cantina called _Chalmun's_, Lando limped into a holonet booth near the back. He keyed a message to Chewie. He kept it brief, because public booths charged by the word, and he used no names, to avoid Imperial sweeps for rebel communiqués. It read:

LC ALIVE. LONG STORY. ARRIVED AT LAST STOP. PROCEED TO LIBRARY AS PLANNED. HIT UP FARMBOY FOR GEAR/MONEY FOR THE TRIP. WILL CONTACT AGAIN IN ONE MONTH. WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL.

Chewie would understand all that just fine. Now he just had to wait until they could hit Obroa-skai and establish his new identity in the archives.

After making some inquiries with the cantina's barman—another charming conversationalist—Lando was able to find a serviceable room for rent. He would heal up there for a couple of days, and then go looking for trouble.

Tamtel Skreej lived for trouble.

**II.**

"Master," Mara Jade said to the quarter-size hologram of the Emperor. "I have discovered new information regarding the operation at Clak'Dor." She took a deep breath. "It involves treason committed by high-level Imperial commanders, so I felt I should contact you immediately with my findings."

"Go on," he said.

Mara proceeded to tell him about Captain Devar relaying his top secret orders to Lord Vader, Vader's command to allow the convoy to be captured, and Devar continuing the charade of mechanical failure even after the mission was over, to the point of permitting Mara's public beating of the chief engineer who had designed the disguised tanker ship.

When she had finished, she braced herself for his response. She imagined he would deliver a wrathful oath of punishment and vengeance.

"I am aware of all this, child," he said simply.

"Master?"

"The only thing that surprises me about the situation is that you were taken so unaware. But you are young, and perhaps I expect too much."

Mara's lower lip trembled. She clenched her teeth and steadied herself. She would not further humiliate herself.

"Forgive me, master. I assumed your commands and authority would be respected absolutely by your senior military officers."

The Emperor chuckled. "Indeed. But what you need to realize, child, is that Lord Vader has directly commanded these men for more years than you have been alive. They have watched him promote those who proved themselves useful to him, and punish the ones who failed. They see him striding vigilantly throughout their ships, and hear the horrid echoes of his breathing as he approaches them.

"I, on the other hand, have scarcely seen fit to leave my palace for the last two decades. My public appearances have been virtually nonexistent. To most of my subjects, I am a mythical figure. The silent, guiding hand of an institution that runs like clockwork, under the sword of one dark knight enforcer. Lord Vader controls the military, my dear, and it is so by my design. All that must remain is that I control him, to the extent that I see fit."

"But your Excellency, he subverted my plan, and by doing so, he has subverted you. Is this not so?"

The Emperor shook his head. "My child, you are learning a valuable lesson today. When you command powerful men, you must realize that absolute trust is impossible. What is important is that you can trust them absolutely to take action according to their desires and ambitions, and that these actions will ultimately guide them to where you want them to be." He clasped his hands together in his lap. "When their desires lead them off the beaten path—when they become unpredictable—that is when you must assert yourself. And worse yet, when their desires will lead them to seek your destruction, that is when you must strike."

"Forgive my impudence, master, but is it not time for assertion with Lord Vader?"

He chuckled again. "No. His desires concerning Skywalker may be somewhat at odds with mine, but that has been known to me all along. He is on the path I have set before him, although I sense that may change in the days to come."

_And that's why you basically authorized me to kill him if he gets between Skywalker and me._

Mara shook her head. "I know now that I am naïve, master, but I still find it hard to believe that the commanders you honor with such great responsibility would stray from your will at all."

He smiled at her. "Has it not occurred to you that your own composition of loyalty and ability is exceedingly rare? And that likewise, it is why you have been chosen to fulfill your vital role of service in my Empire?"

She bowed her head. "Thank you, master."

"Now, stay away from the military. It is Vader's instrument, as surely as you are mine. You are a solitary agent, whose training should be more than sufficient to deal out death to any solitary target. You know your mission, and my expectations."

"Yes, master." She took another breath. "Given Lord Vader's involvement in the last move against Skywalker, it seems likely that he will interfere again—

"Child, I know _your_ desires and ambitions as well as anyone's. For now, Lord Vader is the right man to lead my army. If he tries to disrupt my will again, you may use whatever force is necessary to execute my command. If destiny finds you standing over the remains of two Jedi, then I will certainly be in need of a new right hand to lead our forces. Is that clear enough for you, Mara Jade?

She fought to keep the smile from her lips. "Absolutely, my master."

"There is something else," he said.

"Yes, master. I had a vision."

"I know."

"Should I not proceed directly to Tatooine, then?"

"Your vision is one possible outcome only. Your hunt may well end in the desert, or you may find your prey elsewhere. And I do not foresee Skywalker returning home for some time to come."

Mara bowed her head. "I will continue the hunt then, my master."

**III.**

Luke Skywalker and Rogue Squadron leapt out of hyperspace. Every fighter's strike foils opened immediately, and they dove straight at their target—an Imperial KDY-838 bulk freighter loaded with every kind of food imaginable.

Luke's tactical computer pinged and he glanced down.

"Rogue leader—" Wedge started to say over the comm.

"I see it, Three," Luke said. "Where the blazes are they?"

The tactical computer was alerting them to a change in mission parameters. The Corellian blockade runner that was supposed to be with them was missing.

"Stand by, Lead," Wedge said. "I'm receiving a coded message… _Antares III_ had hyperdrive trouble on the way over and had to drop to sub-light. They're still forty light-years behind us."

Luke punched the side of his canopy. The _Antares III_ was going to deploy a boarding party to overtake the freighter's crew and then transfer the food back to their ship.

Now that plan was shot to hell.

"All right, then—_Antares_ is out. That means it's up to us."

"Sir?" Hobbie asked.

"We're going to take that freighter, guys."

The two gamma assault shuttles escorting the freighter broke formation and came around towards the squadron.

"With all due respect, Lead," Wedge said, "we could probably destroy the freighter, but we can't board it and take out a crew of thirty-plus."

"One thing at a time," Luke answered. "Flights two and three, handle those gammas. One flight, lock both tubes on the freighter and fire on my command."

Luke got acknowledgments all around and then came around for another pass of the freighter. He went for torpedo lock and got a solid tone almost immediately—the massive freighter would be a hard target to miss. He checked his tactical display and saw that the rest of his flight was in formation with him.

"Okay, one flight—fire."

Two torpedoes shot out from his X-Wing's underbelly. Another six joined them from the other fighters, and Luke watched the blue tail-flames close in and then explode against the freighter's shields. The entire energy field protecting the ship shimmered, and Luke could see interior lights wink out at varying locations throughout the freighter as it struggled to keep the shields up. Sparks shot out of the ship's stablizers and communications array from the overload.

"Shields down to forty-percent," Rogue Ten said. Ten was a young woman named Jenna Terradon, the first female pilot in the squadron's history. There had been a little grumbling from some of the boys, so Luke made her his wingman as a message to the others: she's one of us, so lay off.

"Okay, Ten. You and I will hold fire on the next volley. Nine and Twelve, come around and hit them again—both tubes."

Nine—the wolfman Lak Sivrak—growled an affirmative. Twelve was a young replacement brought into the squad after Hoth—Ray or Roy—Luke could never remember which. He let loose his torps before he even finished his enthusiastic 'yes sir.'

The four projectiles nailed the shields, causing more power failures and overloads. This time, one of the massive rear thrusters began to sputter.

"Nine percent," Ten said.

"All right, one flight, on me—let's start chipping."

After the first volley of eight torpedoes had knocked the shields down by sixty-percent, some quick calculations showed that every pair of torps killed fifteen-percent of the freighter's shields. Another volley of equal strength could have destroyed the ship entirely, which was not their objective. By cutting the second volley in half, they further reduced the shields without putting the freighter at risk. Now they could chip away at the last remnants of the shields with their lasers.

Luke checked his tactical display again. Both gammas were without shields and taking damage. They'd be dust within moments.

He lead one flight in a fast run along the freighter's starboard flank, peppering the shields with laser bolts as they went. Unlike their attack on the fuel tankers at Clak'Dor, they could be more liberal with their firing, as a few shots into the hull would do little real damage to the freighter.

On the third run along the bulk cruiser, Luke's shots stopped causing splashes on the shields and started scotching the hull plates. Their shields were down. He looked over at his tactical—the gammas were destroyed.

"Rogue group, listen up. We have a defenseless ship with a less than defenseless crew guarding the food we need to survive. Let's hear some ideas."

"Lead, Eleven here," Janson said. "We're only two parsecs from a big agro-combine in the Minos Cluster. We could liberate a shipment on its way out of there."

"Negative, Eleven. Hitting non-military targets is against the Alliance charter and we all know it."

"But boss," Hobbie chimed in, "those big farms are in the Empire's pocket all the way—

"Can it," Luke cut him off. "I want options for right here right now to take the food on that ship and bring it home."

"Lead, Three," Wedge said. "Even if we do get aboard that ship, we can't transport the cargo. If we wait for _Antares_, the Imps in this sector will probably beat them here and wipe us out."

"Okay, then—what do we know about these old '838s?" Luke asked.

"Pretty standard Kuati design," Wedge said. "Dorsal bridge, ventral docking bay, and aft drive section."

"How big do you figure the bay is, Three?"

"Just big enough to receive a class-one freighter for deliveries—why?"

"A class-one is bigger than three X-Wings, right?" Luke asked.

"Yeah."

"Fine. Rogue Four?"

"Four here," Hobbie said.

"Standby to take command of the squadron. Rogues Three and Eleven, on me." Luke activated his comm. system. "Attention Imperial Freighter. Signal your surrender and I will guarantee the safety of your crew. You have one minute to respond."

There was only dead air in reply.

"Doesn't look promising, skipper," Janson said.

Luke pulled his blaster out of its holster and checked the power pack. He shoved it back in. "Rogue Four, you're on."

"Yes, sir."

"Three and Eleven, prepare to board the freighter."

Wedge's response followed a rattling sigh. "Aye, sir."

"Gotta die sometime," Janson said amiably.

------------------------------

A moment later, the three X-Wings burst into the freighter's docking bay and hovered above the deck, s-foils still locked in attack position. There was a wall running directly ahead of them with windows at regular intervals. A large service door lay at the center. Luke had half expected to see a squad of soldiers go running past the windows to meet them, but he realized he should have known better.

"Do we land, Lead?" Wedge asked.

"Standby," Luke answered. He closed his eyes, and reached out with the force.

He could sense a group of men, tense with nervousness and aggression, just out of sight.

"Land your fighters and disembark," Luke ordered. "I'll provide covering fire."

As the two fighters set down, Luke nudged the stick and maneuvered to the left, pointing the nose towards a corner where the portside wall met a bulkhead. He fired all four of his blaster cannon, blowing a gaping hole through the metal walls. He could sense the shock and pain from the men who survived, and the sudden absence of those who had not.

He started the landing cycle and popped the canopy. "Artoo, I'm giving you full weapons control. After we're gone, blast anything that moves besides us."

The astro-droid beeped an affirmative.

The landing gears came to a rest on the deck, and Luke reached down to grab something special he'd brought along for just such an occasion. When he looked back up, a soldier wearing the black fatigues and helmet of the Imperial Navy was leaning out beyond the smoldering blast hole Luke had created.

On his shoulder was a handheld missile launcher.

"No!" Luke cried. The Imperial fired a rocket straight at Janson's X-Wing. Luke turned towards Janson and gestured sharply, using the force to throw him clear of the cockpit just as his fighter exploded from under him.

He then yanked his pistol clear of its holster and put two bolts into the Imp's chest, dropping him to the deck with his tunic in flames.

Wedge kicked some debris off of Janson and helped him to his feet. Luke leapt down from his cockpit to meet them. They all ran to the edge of the blast hole and crouched down with weapons drawn. They each had their standard-issue DL-44 side arms, but Luke had something else:

A titanium beam—his surrogate lightsaber.

"It's a good thing these flight suits are flame-retardant," Janson said. His bright orange suit was covered in dark soot from the explosion. "But I think one of you guys is gonna have to let me sit in your lap on the ride home."

"Don't worry about that now," Luke said. "You guys just lay down some cover fire for me. I'll take point." Luke shoved his pistol back into its holster and took the beam in a two-handed grip.

"What are you doing?" Wedge asked incredulously.

Luke smiled. "Putting all that training into action."

Luke started to get to his feet, but Wedge grabbed his arm tightly.

"Luke, this isn't a damned game. That rod won't stop a real blaster bolt and—

"I'll be fine," Luke said firmly. "Just watch my back."

Wedge was clearly far from sold on the idea, but he took up position on the other side of the breach. Luke nodded to show he was ready. Wedge and Janson nodded back.

The two pilots each reached their gun hands around the edge of the wall and fired blindly into the corridor. This sparked some return fire, but little enough to suggest the bulk of their forces were pinned down or elsewhere. Luke sprang through the hole and into the fray.

At the end of the hall, three black-clad naval troops were crouched behind fallen rubble. As Luke charged their position, they rose up to overpower what seemed like a suicidal rebel armed only with a club.

Luke threw the rod in a fast, pin-wheeling spin. It whistled through the air, striking the arm of one soldier and sending his blaster tumbling out of reach. The rod seemed to bounce off of the man as Luke used the force to call his weapon right back into his hand. All the while, Luke had continued his run, and was now right on top of their position.

He vaulted over the rubble barricade, planting a side kick into one trooper's chest, knocking him clear out of the fight. He spun hard and swung the beam at waist height, sending another blaster careening away. Before that trooper could react, Luke had already whirled around one-hundred-eighty degrees to bring the beam down in an overhead shot across the other one's helmet. There was an echoing clang of metal on metal, and the man's head whipped around at a horrid angle. He dropped like a sack of bricks. The last man, already disarmed, threw himself onto Luke's back. Luke threw his own helmeted head back sharply, breaking the trooper's nose with a wet snap and sending him stumbling backwards. As soon as there was a meter between him and Luke, a pair of blaster bolts cut him down.

Luke turned to see Wedge leaning into the corridor, a tendril of smoke coming from his gun barrel.

"Okay, guys, let's move. We're heading for the bridge."

They made their way through several passages and companionways, and their Jedi point-man made short work of any troops they encountered. Luke sensed more feelings of fear and malcontent from up ahead, and raised a closed fist, signaling for Wedge and Janson to stop. The hallway they were in went straight for another ten meters and then made a blind turn to the left.

A heavy blast door slammed shut behind them, cutting them off from retreat. A hail of grenades were tossed from the adjacent corridor, bouncing off of walls and rolling towards their position. There were at least half a dozen of them.

"Down!" Luke called. He threw up a hand, and with the force, swept all the grenades up and back towards their original owners.

Luke then whirled around and hit the deck with his comrades. The explosions were deafening, and he felt as much as heard the final screams of their attackers being blown apart. Hot air blasted them and they were each peppered by minor bits of shrapnel, puncturing their suits and pinging off of their helmets.

"Damn, that crap stings," Janson said through gritted teeth.

"Come on," Luke said, getting to his feet. "The bridge should be just up ahead."

Luke jogged forward through the smoke, beam held at the ready. Wedge and Janson followed, trying not to look too closely at the remains of the troops they had to step over.

At the end of the corridor was a heavy door leading onto the bridge. Luke reached for the control panel.

"Wait," Wedge called out.

"It's okay," Luke said. "I don't sense anyone in there."

He hit the release, and the door slid aside.

An automated blaster turret suspended from the ceiling within swung around and shot a high-energy bolt directly at him. He blocked it with the rod, but the heavy laser tore through and continued straight into Luke's chest. A shower of sparks blew out of his torso, and he was thrown clear off his feet and to the deck.

"Luke!"

Wedge ran over to him as Janson put several shots into the turret, silencing it.

Luke was flat on his back, and he was moving a bit, trying to sit up, but only managing to lift his head and his hands. His boot heels scraped back and forth uselessly against the deck.

Wedge looked down at him and saw what had happened: what was left of the blaster bolt after passing through the rod hit Luke squarely in his chest-mounted life-support control box. It had been melted and blown apart, but it stopped the bolt.

"Luke, can you sit up?" Wedge asked.

"Hot," Luke whispered.

Wedge and Janson eased him into a sitting position and started pulling his flight suit down to waist-level. Janson tore Luke's shirt down the center—there was a perfect square of pink and blistered skin where the metal box had begun to burn him.

"You're damned lucky," Wedge said, shaking his head.

"You're right about that," Luke said hoarsely. "Now—you think you boys can fly this thing home?"

---------------------------

Luke eased his X-Wing down for a landing in _Yavin Victory's_ hangar bay. The captured Imperial bulk freighter floated serenely just off the portside bow, with Wedge and Janson at the helm. Several techs ran over to greet the rest of the Rogues, and as Luke popped his canopy, he could hear whistles and cheers.

He heard something else, too:

The excited howling of a Wookiee.

Luke turned his head and saw Chewbacca making his way through the crowd. The _Falcon_—all shot to hell, as usual—was landed further down the bay, as though it had never left.

"Chewie!"

Luke hopped over the side of his cockpit and made his way over, gladly allowing the big fur ball to lift him off the deck in a bone-wrenching embrace.

It had only been two weeks, but there had been all the training and the missions. The constant departure of friends on dangerous errands. And the enormous weight of a Sith lord's claim that he had no way to verify. It had all turned the weeks into years.

But Luke laughed as Chewie ruffled his hair. If one friend could return unharmed, so could another.

So could Han.

Luke's relief—almost rapture—at being reunited with one of his core circle of friends, was enough to push away his chagrin at nearly charging headlong into death back on the freighter.

And it was enough to overshadow the vague feeling of dread he had whenever he was back with the rebel fleet.

**IV.**

Darth Vader's TIE Advanced rose up through the _Executor's_ ventral docking bay and slid neatly into a deploy-and-receive rack suspended above the hangar deck. The mount holding the fighter slid forward along its axis until it arrived at the back wall of the hangar. Vader popped the hatch and climbed out of the cockpit. He dropped to the steel catwalk that ran alongside the wall and strode past a view port. Behind it, he could see the obligatory entourage of officers and stormtroopers awaiting him. He walked through the door and continued past the welcome committee without stopping.

"Welcome back, Lord Vader," Admiral Piett said, hurrying to fall into step alongside the dark lord. The honor guard of stormtroopers marched in formation a few meters behind. "We have continued probe droid deployment in your absence, and have eliminated several sectors as possible rebel—

"Where is Commander Haramin?" Vader interrupted.

"Ah, main engineering, I believe, my lord. Shall I summon him?"

"No, I will call on him myself. Resume your normal duties."

Piett and the squad of troopers stopped walking, and watched Vader's black cloak glide onward.

---------------------------

Commander Haramin was walking along a conduit adjacent to the multi-story mechanical monstrosity that was the _Executor's_ hyperdrive. He gestured at various junctions and fuel lines, giving instructions to a team of engineers. As they neared the end of that particular conduit, Lord Vader stepped around the corner and into their path.

"Leave us," he commanded.

The crewman dispersed instantly, leaving their commander alone with Vader.

Haramin dropped to his good knee. "I am honored to serve you, my lord. What is your command?"

"Rise, Commander. Tell me about the weapon."

"Yes, my lord. It is built directly into a standard TIE bomber warhead. When it pierces the hull of its target, the chemical compound within will be dispersed into the air supply."

"How quickly will the virus do its work?"

Haramin cleared his throat. "Well, my lord, we needed it to be slow enough that the infected subjects would have time to spread it throughout the population—

"I am aware of this—how long?"

"Two days, my lord."

"And the virus is incurable?"

"I'm afraid not, my lord."

Vader turned and stared directly at him.

Haramin tried not to stammer. "Given the time constraints involved with the Clak'Dor operation, we did not have time to develop an original virus."

"And?"

"We used the Suuron virus, which is extremely rare. The only known antidote is Triladasine, which is only manufactured by one small pharmaceutical firm in the outer rim. Our research shows the drug is not stocked in large quantities at any one location, including the manufacturing site."

"Then it is possible that some of the rebels could be cured," Vader said.

"Only a very small handful, my lord."

"Pray that Leia Organa is not among them."

Haramin swallowed.

"That concern aside," Vader said, "I am satisfied with the work you have done. I expect to be equally satisfied with your work aboard my flagship."

Haramin bowed at the waist. "Yes, my lord, and thank you."

Vader turned to walk away.

"My lord?" Haramin said.

Vader turned back to face him.

"I have a small request, if I may be so bold."

"Yes, Commander?"

"That woman, who lead the Clak'Dor mission…" His mouth trembled as he fought to suppress his anger.

"Absolutely not," Vader said. He turned away again.

"My lord, she humiliated me," Haramin called after him. "In front of all of the _Devastator's_ senior officers. She damaged by knee beyond—

Vader whirled around and put his mask right in Haramin's face.

"She serves the Emperor, so whatever foolish actions you are considering, forget them. I suggest that you never think of her again, and I command that you do not speak of her." Vader stepped back and straightened to his full height. "Your old friends may have turned their backs on you, but you now have a better life here, serving me. Make the most of this new life, and do not look back."

"Yes, my lord," he managed. He had wilted under Vader's rebuttal.

"Monitor that pharmaceutical firm. If there is any change in the supply of the antidote, I must know immediately."

**V.**

Boba Fett stood on the cool stone floor of a shady canyon on Tatooine. He had been standing there for quite some time, listening to the sounds of pebbles skittering off of rock walls and the faint echoes of wildlife from further in. A dry, gentle breeze made his pant legs ripple and caught against the sash hanging off his shoulder.

Directly in front of him was the still form of his starship, _Slave I_.

He stood just in front of the gangway, at the top of which was an open hatch.

From the hatch, running all the way down the gangway, was a single line of dried blood.

Fett had a well deserved reputation as a ruthless and practical man. Such a man was not one to avoid a situation because it would be unpleasant.

All the same, he found he was quite willing to just stand there for a while, and take in what solace the desert had to offer. He had the definite impression that once he stepped through that hatch, any further solace would be a long time coming.

_It is what it is. Stop hiding and handle it._

Fett took a deep breath, thumbed off the safety on his rifle, and strode up the gangway and into the ship. Upon entering, he was immediately surprised by the lack of damage. Assuming the ship had been forcibly boarded, he had expected blaster scoring and worse.

As it was, all he saw was the water tank, a welding torch, and a pair of discarded shackles. He stepped around the steel vat at the room's center, and something much more alarming caught his attention:

The breastplate of Syrella's armor, lying on the floor. Her boots and gauntlets lay there as well. A small puddle of dried blood punctuated the scene.

_Where is her body?_

Without feeling the movements of his legs or his arms, he tore through the ship in a frenzy. He called out his master access code and threw open every door, every cabinet, every drawer. Ultimately, he found only one piece of evidence:

A set of men's clothing—expensive pants and shoes, a stylish belt, a silk shirt, and a matching cape.

_Calrissian._

But he had just seen the _Millennium Falcon_ at Veraant. Could they have beaten him here by such a margin that they could have been the ones responsible? Or could she have captured Calrissian and then been ambushed by rebel operatives? He could barely entertain the notion that a fracking dandy like Calrissian could have gotten the drop on Syrella while in captivity. But it was at least a possibility.

There was also the possibility that it wasn't rebels at all. There were plenty of fringe scum in Mos Eisley—any number of them could have come looking for Han Solo and the fortune he represented. After all, the whole point of her taking _Slave I_ was to mislead others as to the true location of Solo.

The one question he couldn't bear to dwell on was whether she had used this torture gear on a prisoner, or if it had been used against her to ascertain the location of his bounty.

The damnable misery of it all was that without a body—without the lasting horror of cold, pallid skin, dry, lifeless eyes, and an absent pulse—he could never be certain she was dead. He could also never dare to hope she was alive. And he could hate himself in perpetuity for allowing the situation to occur at all.

It was the rebellion. His instincts screamed it. He could feel it in his guts and coursing through his veins. Maybe it was Calrissian. Maybe it was his friends.

Maybe it was Vader's precious boy, Skywalker.

He would never know for sure. But from this day on, they were all marked men. No matter who they were or who would protect them, every single rebel was a target. This wasn't a matter of bounties.

There was hell to pay.

**VI.**

On the swamp world of Dagobah, a planet brimming with both animal and vegetative life, the most formidable presence of all had disappeared.

That was not to say, however, that he had ever actually left.

In the deepest recesses of the foulest cave, on the very spot where he had vanquished a Bpfashhi Sith Lord all those years ago, Jedi Master Yoda sat on the cold, wet ground. He had only a small blanket draped around his shoulders, and his long ears trembled slightly from the cold, and more so from the darkness that permeated this place.

Here, in the exact location where the Sith Lord had died and been obliterated by his own dark side energies, was a presence profound enough to mask Yoda's own bright aura in the force. The negative cancelled out the positive, leaving no trace for Vader or Palpatine to sense.

Yoda's own senses were extremely clouded by the dark side, but he could recognize that Vader had departed, and that the Emperor was still reaching out in search of him. He would have to remain where he was until that search had been abandoned.

Being in the cave was taking an enormous toll on him. The nightmarish visions—the ever-present feelings of fear and despair—constantly threatened the overtake him.

But it was all necessary. He knew he needed to hold out until Luke came back. Until he could tell him who he really was, and what monumental burden he had to bear. And how he must overcome all of it, and restore the Jedi to the galaxy.

He, and his sister.

A violent shiver ran through Yoda's small body.

He just hoped Luke came soon.

_**To be continued…**_


	12. Chapter 12

**----- PART II -----**

**CHAPTER 12**

**I.**

It had been a brutal six months for Lando Calrissian—brutal in the most literal sense of the word. He had completely suppressed his normal suave persona to become the violent thug Tamtel Skreej. As Tamtel, he had found work as a gaming enforcer in one of the many Mos Eisley saloons that operated under the protection of Jabba the Hutt.

Lando was uncomfortable with speaking like an unpolished brute, so he had crafted Tamtel into a man of very few words. He had kept the helmet and armor from the bouncer he had beaten all those months ago, and spent his days peering out at the casino floor over the fangs embedded in the helmet's face guard. Blasters were not permitted in the saloon, and guards could not carry firearms on the chance they could be stolen by a patron and used against the house. As a result, Lando carried a force pike, which was essentially a cattle prod used to herd Tatooine's massive bantha. The effect they had on humanoids was incredible and often permanent.

While Tamtel was a blunt instrument of aggression, Lando possessed the refined eye of a lifelong professional gambler. And he had spotted the first cheater of the day.

Without saying a word, he walked up behind the man and saw his finger tickle the corner of his sabaac card. The picture on the card changed. He was using a skifter.

Tamtel grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and slammed his face into the table. The cheater's face caught the rim of his drinking glass and sent the tumbler bouncing across the table and breaking on the floor. Tamtel ignored his screams and hauled him to his feet. He thrust a knee into the man's gut, doubling him over. He held onto the fistful of hair and pulled him towards the door—the cheater moved his feet rapidly to avoid being dragged, coughing and sputtering as he went.

When they reached the door, Tamtel threw him towards it. It didn't slide aside quite fast enough and the cheater's head banged against the edge. The rest of his body continued out of the opening, causing him to spin around and land face-first in the lobby. The two Gamorreans who operated the main entrance each grabbed a foot and dragged him towards the street. The casino door slid shut before Tamtel could see the rest.

The floor manager, a horned Devaronian, walked over to him. "Why do you not use the force pike, Skreej? It is quicker and more damaging."

Tamtel turned to his boss and held his stare for a long moment.

"No sport," he grunted.

The Devaronian simply looked at him, as if trying to gauge Tamtel's disposition. Tamtel's brown eyes just stared right back, emotionless and relentless.

The Devaronian finally gave him a smile full of fangs and clapped him on the shoulder. "My friend, I don't know if you have style or lack it all together, but I like you. Keep smashing these fools down and maybe we can find something more 'sporting' for you."

Tamtel just stared back.

The Devaronian barked a laugh and walked away, shaking his head.

Only when he was completely out of sight did Lando permit himself to smile behind his ghoulish mask.

It had been six months of vicious drudgery, but he had climbed from working the door to watching the bar area, and then to working the casino floor.

By his calculations, the next step up would be a transfer to Jabba's palace.

**II.**

It had been a busy six months for Mara Jade. In the weeks following the Battle of Hoth, she had been shown up by Luke Skywalker, deceived by high-ranking Imperial officers, and had it all thrown in her face by a mocking Ysanne Isard. She had been made the fool in full view of her master, but she was determined that it would never happen again.

The Emperor had long taught that when you needed to grow one orchid, you scattered a fistful of seeds across the ground. You would be more likely to accomplish your goal, and possibly end up with even more than you had desired.

Mara had been scattering seeds all across the Empire. She had engineered weak points in the security of all manner of Imperial resources—food and medical supplies, starship parts and military materiel, and even financial assets.

She was probing the Rebel Alliance—determining what commodities they needed, in what quantities, and how often. The minor losses taken by the Empire were totally insignificant. By establishing a pattern of rebel needs and rebel action, she could begin to herd them in a specific direction.

They were following her trail of seeds, grabbing them up one by one until they reached the end of the line.

Once they arrived at that end point, however, a suitable hammer had to be in place to crush them. She had been charged with destroying Skywalker, but he wasn't just a man or even just a Jedi. He was a military leader. She could not engage him without engaging his forces. That was why, despite the warnings of her master, she would need to enlist some forces of her own. This time, though, she had taken to heart some of the wisdom he had imparted on her: _You can only trust powerful men to take action according to their own desires and ambitions. Make sure that these actions will ultimately take them to where you want them to be._

Mara's own desire was to expose Darth Vader committing outright treason and then usurp him for the good of the Empire—by whatever means necessary.

She was confident she had found the right man to aid her.

"The _Avenger_ is at your disposal, Madam Operative," Captain Argus said. "The Dark Lord robbed this ship of a great captain, and the Empire of a great leader." He set his glass down on the low table in his quarters more loudly than he intended, sending some of the amber liquid sloshing over the rim. "And he robbed me of my best friend."

Mara sat in a matching chair on the other side of the table, her own drink untouched. "Captain Needa had a distinguished service record and obviously commanded great loyalty and respect from the crew. He didn't deserve a summary execution."

"Executions have tribunals and firing squads. The captain wasn't even afforded that level of dignity—Vader just murdered him to vent frustration over his own failures."

Mara looked down at her lap. "You were his first officer for almost ten years."

Argus nodded. "I always dreamed of earning the command of a star destroyer. When the captain was killed, I was moved up like the next cog on the assembly line. My realized dream tasted of ashes. One more good thing Lord Vader snuffed out."

Mara leaned forward. "Vader is using a hidden wing of TIE fighters to launch a biological weapon at the rebel command ship."

"So you've said. As far as the Sith lord goes, it actually seems like a reasonable plan, if he can pull it off."

"The catch is, he's making them wait to attack until Luke Skywalker is safely off of the ship."

Argus' head came up. "The Jedi whelp who destroyed the Death Star? Why?"

"I can't prove it, but I think Vader wants Skywalker to come over to us and help stage a coup against the Emperor."

"That cannot be allowed," he said vehemently. "This ship will move against them, and I can guarantee the support of the other commanders in this sector."

"We'll need them," Mara said. "My plan is fairly simple when you get right down to it. Vader is going to poison the rebels with the Suuron virus, which has only one antidote—a drug called Triladasine." She tapped a few keys on a data pad and slid it across the table to Argus. He picked it up and looked at the screen.

"I've never even heard of Veraant."

"It has a small pharmaceutical plant called Veraant BioWorks. They have a patent on Triladasine and are the only manufacturer."

"You think Skywalker will show up there after Vader's attack?"

"He'll have to," she said. "I've used my authority to arrange a recall of the drug. Every last vial in the galaxy will be stored in one place. When he arrives there, we'll be waiting for him."

"What type of force can we expect him to bring?"

"If all goes to plan with Vader's op, I suspect the only uninfected group will be his personal X-Wing squadron—the Rogues. They're very good."

"But we're still only talking about a dozen snub fighters, correct?" Argus asked.

Mara gave the captain a predatory smile.

"It won't be the whole dozen."

**III.**

It had been a fast-paced six months for Luke Skywalker. Where the squadron was concerned, the missions and raids against the Empire had been constant. Alliance Intelligence had turned up one lead after another that identified cracks in the enemy's armor. They had liberated all manner of supplies from Imperial installations and shipping, and had suffered minimal losses.

Where his Jedi training was concerned, Wedge and the team had come through amazingly, subjecting themselves to all sorts of exertion and punishment in the name of the cause. His swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, telekinesis, and overall agility had all improved exponentially.

But Luke had woken up this morning from a vivid dream about his time on Dagobah, and realized there was one vital area he had hardly devoted any time to at all.

Meditation.

He had avoided it more or less consciously for a variety of reasons, but he had awoken today with a strong sense that now was the time.

It had been six months since he had attempted it. The last time was the day Operation Triple Blade was unveiled, and they had learned that a new Death Star was under construction.

Now Luke was sitting cross-legged in front of his X-Wing, exactly as he had on that day. His eyes were closed, and his hands rested lightly on his knees.

He began the way Yoda had taught him—feeling the force within himself. He could feel the energy field coursing through his mind and body. It was almost like doing a preflight check, making sure all was well within before starting the journey without.

_Here we go._

Luke's aura surged forward, ready to explore the galaxy. As he had all those months ago, he chose to start with his immediate surroundings.

His essence moved all throughout his X-Wing. He coated the fuselage, feeling every curve, every scratch, every scorch mark. He poured into Artoo's docking tube and permeated every nook and cranny of the Incom T-65—engines, weapons, and cockpit. When he felt he had encompassed the entire ship, bow to stern, he decided to try at the impossible again.

The X-Wing eased off of the deck a few centimeters and floated there. Luke tried to suppress his excitement, and instead focused on a destination for his free floating craft. His aura branched out from the fighter and began to move about _Yavin Victory_. He swept through the docking bay and through corridors and crew quarters. He soared through the main bridge and into space beyond—

Everything stopped. It was as though the motion and energy of the entire galaxy had been suspended, and had receded into a dark, silent background. From the center of it all, images began to emerge.

It was a vision.

_TIE fighters swarmed around him, filling the sky with laser fire._

_Leia writhed in agony, her mouth open in a scream she could not sound, three medical droids holding her down._

_He lay on earthen ground, his elbows and heels propelling him backwards._

_Darth Vader loomed above, moving ever forward, his hand outstretched in welcome—_

"No!" Luke screamed.

The X-Wing slammed back down on the deck. The shocks on the landing skids easily absorbed the impact, but a thunderclap roared across the hangar bay. There was a feminine yelp of surprise from behind him. He turned around.

Princess Leia stood behind him, one hand resting on her sternum, apparently trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest.

"You're back," Luke said. His words had a breathless sound to them, and he realized he was short of breath and had sweat through his tunic.

"I'm back," she agreed, also out of breath. She began laughing.

Luke got to his feet and embraced her. The tight braid at the back of her neck rested against his cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of her hair.

He reveled in the safe return of another friend, and pushed his vision far into the deepest recesses of his mind.

It would join the rest of the horror and doubt he had sequestered there.

**IV.**

It had been a very long six months for Darth Vader. Command of the Imperial fleet was more tedious than ever. The _Executor_ had landed thousands of probe droids on thousands of worlds in every corner of the galaxy, trying to find a rebel base of operations that virtually all intelligence reports concluded did not exist.

The rebels were operating as a fleet on the move, undoubtedly taking refuge in the myriad pockets of empty space that the universe provided in abundance. They could be anywhere at anytime, and finding them would be akin to finding a specific grain of sand on the planet Tatooine.

There _was_ a group of Imperials who knew where the rebels were: the thirty-six TIE pilots who had been lying in wait inside a stolen tanker ship. The problem was, they could only use passive sensors and listening devices to monitor the enemy. If they were to send any kind of transmission to the Empire, the rebels would be alerted and his plan would fail.

Vader knew he could deliver a crippling blow to the rebellion at virtually any moment, but winning the war was not his primary interest. Winning his son was. But to do that, he had to whittle away his support system until he had no one else to turn to.

Master Yoda was already dead. But the boy clearly loved Organa—more so than anyone else in his life. Even if he cut down the whole rebellion around them, he knew his son would fight back to back with her until the bitter end.

But if she were gone, and the rebels suffered a massive loss to their central command, the remnants would disperse into a collection of lone terrorists creating minor nuisances around the galaxy. Luke would lose passion. Lose purpose. He would look for something to anchor himself to his own life.

He would look to his father.

Vader sensed a presence outside his mediation chamber. He sensed the messenger was more excited than afraid. That bode well.

"Pause playback," the dark lord said. The recording of Luke taking on a whole platoon of troopers at an Imperial installation froze. It had been taken on surveillance cams during a rebel raid three weeks ago. The boy was mid-swing, about to connect his metal rod with a soldier's head. Vader was anxious to watch his son trounce the lot of them.

He tapped a key on his seat's control pad, and the top half of the isolation pod rose upward. His seat rotated until he faced the officer who had come before him.

"Yes, Commander?"

The officer bowed. "Forgive me my lord, but we have received a dispatch from I.S.S.. Princess Leia Organa has reportedly left Sullust to brief the rebel command on the insurgency. She should rejoin their fleet shortly, if she hasn't already."

"Excellent. Return to your station."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." The man bowed again, and quickly made his exit.

It would not be long now. Rogue Squadron would be off again soon enough, and once they were, Organa was forfeit, along with as many rebels as their command ship could carry.

**V.**

It had been a difficult six months for Boba Fett. He had reached the conclusion that Lando Calrissian and his rebel allies were responsible for the disappearance, and probably death, of his lover, Syrella Boushh. But the rebels were not some fringe gang with a half-assed hideout he could light up. They were a well-organized, well-supplied paramilitary terrorist group that the legitimate government dedicated virtually all of its resources to locating—without success. As a good as he was, he was only one man. With the prices the Empire would pay for any one of the rebel leaders, he would have brought them all in ages ago if he could have. Tracking Solo to Bespin had only been possible because the Empire provided a starting point.

And therein lied the problem. He was like a ship well-fueled by rage and vengeance, but without a course to plot, or even a direction to go in. He had a blaster in each hand and belt full of clips, but there was no target in sight.

After realizing that Syrella was gone, he had sat on the hard, dusty ground of that canyon outside of _Slave I_ all night and most of the next day. He thought and planned and plotted, to no avail. He hadn't wanted to accept that there was nothing to be done. Ultimately, he did not—he decided to bottle the venomous hatred within him and set it aside, just for now. He would remain vigilant, and watch for the opportunity that would undoubtedly present itself. When it did, he would pop the cork and let fly his wrath upon those who had called it down.

As the twin suns of Tatooine descended on that second day, he transferred Han Solo—surely the only object that could remain frozen on this furnace of a world—back to _Slave I_. He would leave _Slave II_, the Mandalorian _Pursuer_ he had gifted to Syrella, hidden within this canyon.

And so, having suppressed his emotions as best he could, he raised ship and coasted in no great hurry to Jabba's palace, where the Hutt had his minions give him a hero's welcome. Taking any pride or pleasure in the fanfare would have tainted his stone cold reputation, so Fett's numb indifference served him well in that regard.

For his part, Jabba looked upon the smuggler's frozen grimace and boomed with triumphant laughter. He slapped Solo's statuesque face with a bloated hand, leaving a green smear across the grey carbonite encasement. He ordered Bib Fortuna to remove a stolen piece of art from its place on the wall, and hang Solo there instead.

Jabba transferred the ten million credits to Fett's accounts. With his dreams for a future with Syrella dashed, the fortune was too abstract to have any meaning for him. The Hutt told Fett he had earned a vacation. Fett responded by demanding immediate work, and lots of it. Death marks only.

Jabba obliged, and for the next six months, Fett hunted down petty criminals and low-lifes that had crossed his employer. He extinguished them in a hideous variety of ways, none of which brought his inner rage to the surface or did anything to reduce it. It was all just a distraction to keep him occupied while he waited for his opportunity to present itself.

Then one day, while he was in Jabba's court waiting to have a mark's disintegrated remains verified, opportunity finally came.

"My master," Bib Fortuna said, "a transmission for you from Coruscant. It is Director Isard, seeking an audience."

Jabba waived a dismissive hand. "I know what she wants, but she cannot have it," he said in Huttese. "Still, the semblance of friendship must be maintained. Put her through."

A holo-emitter lowered from the ceiling and projected a life-sized image of Ysanne Isard in front of Jabba's dais. She wore her usual close-fitting Imperial uniform, custom made for her in crimson. Her eyes, one red and one blue, commanded attention even in a hologram.

"Mighty Jabba," she began, "thank you for speaking with me on such short notice."

"It is always a pleasure, Madam Director," Jabba answered. A protocol droid out of view on Isard's side translated for her.

"I hate to revisit old territory, but it has been several months since we last spoke, and I was wondering if Han Solo had faded into the dusty background enough for you to lend him to us for a while."

Jabba gave what was, by Hutt standards, a polite chuckle. Isard seemed put off just the same. "I have always been happy to work with the great Galactic Empire on all manner of business, but what you ask is impossible. As a matter of honor, my vengeance—and mine alone—must continue against Captain Solo for all time."

She smiled. "Could he not suffer my vengeance for a few weeks—a little excruciation to break up his long slumber?"

"It is impossible," he repeated.

Isard sighed. "Very well. The Emperor will be disappointed."

"Please tell His Excellency that I would be happy to accommodate him in any other way I can."

"There is something else we would like your assistance with."

"Tell me," Jabba said.

"We were hoping you would use your influence with the Bounty Hunter Guild to make certain rebels a priority. If we could obtain some of these individuals, our need for Captain Solo would become far less urgent."

Jabba's gaze shifted to Boba Fett. Fett nodded.

"I will do so, and more." He gestured for the bounty hunter to come forward.

Isard watched as Fett stepped into view. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"I trust this man needs no introduction."

"Indeed not," she said.

"I will put Boba Fett on the case immediately."

Fett spoke up. "I will find you some rebels, but I'll need leads."

"You'll get them, along with the list of rebels we're most interested in."

"I have one other condition," Fett said.

Isard cocked an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

"I'll keep working your list, but when Lando Calrissian gets caught, I want him."

She thought for a moment. "Let me counter. If you bring in Luke Skywalker, Calrissian is yours free and clear."

"Done," he said.

"Excellent. And one other thing—the contract for Skywalker states he is wanted alive. Off the record, the Emperor would very much prefer that you to bring him in dead."

Fett bowed. "With the utmost pleasure, Madam Director."

_**To be continued…**_


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

**I.**

In the bustling port of Eriadu City, Mara Jade tailed a rebel agent. The operative was a woman with striking blond hair that was almost white. She currently had it partially hidden under a cap, but the braid coming out of the back was enough for Mara to mark her.

_She should cut it off. Or change her code name to _Target.

Targeter, as she was called, was one of the Alliance's top intelligence operatives, and was rumored to have a holographic memory. While not as infamous as Skywalker or Organa, or as highly placed as Mon Mothma, she did manage to make it onto Director Isard's want list. Getting a make on her had been no easy feat, and ordinarily, Mara would have been more than happy to capture or kill her. But not today.

Today, she was protecting her.

A Rodian came out from a shop and was walking on a course that would intersect with Targeter's.

_Here we go._

The handoff was seamless, neither one breaking stride or appearing to have looked at the other. But Mara knew a data chip had been handed over.

She had, after all, sold it to the Rodian two weeks ago.

She continued to shadow Targeter from thirty meters back. She would be the operative's guardian angel until she boarded her transport and got off world. Mara would make no attempt to bug or track the vessel, because the vital element to this plan was for Targeter to give the data to the rebellion and to have no reason to believe she may have been compromised.

Mara sensed something that made the back of her neck tingle unpleasantly. She let her gaze track to the left. A humanoid figure in a hooded cloak was making his way through the crowd of pedestrians and moving subtly in towards Targeter. His gate was wrong for a civilian or even a criminal. He had military training, but more importantly, he had aggressive intentions towards her mark.

_Damn it. I have to take him down fast and do it in a way that makes Targeter think it's unrelated to her. Or do it so quietly that she doesn't even know it happened. _

Mara liked the latter choice better, and pulled a long vibroblade from the inside of her jacket. She was closing in on the cloaked figure. Five meters away now. Three meters. She drew her arm back, holding the knife so the long blade was concealed against the inside of her forearm.

_Sorry, friend._

As she moved into her thrust, the man spun around, cloak whirling and hood falling back. As he brought up his assault rifle to bear on her, Mara saw her own shock reflected in the visor of his battered Mandalorian helmet.

_Holy frack._

**II.**

Just as Boba Fett leveled his blaster carbine at the young woman's face, her heavy vibroblade connected with the barrel, lopping it off with the high-pitched chime of metal-on-metal. Fett didn't miss a beat. He threw the ruined weapon at the girl and brought up his wrist blaster.

The girl didn't miss a trick, either. She readily ducked the carbine toss, and lashed out with her left hand, catching his wrist before he could take aim. He jabbed his left fist into her abdomen and was prepared to let fly his rockets when she thrust a metal cylinder under his mask and into his chin.

"Stop, I'm with the Empire!" she said breathlessly.

"Then frack off," came his metallic reply. "I'm hunting the rebel for Iceheart."

She nodded in understanding. "I know. But she has to make her rendezvous—it's part of a bigger op. I'll see that you're paid whatever she's worth."

"I don't give a damn about your op or your money. She's got a contract on her and I've been hired to take her, so back down _now_."

The girl didn't budge, and her green eyes went cold.

"I know who you are and I know why you're here, but it's off. That's not a pistol against your throat, it's a fracking lightsaber, and I carry it for the Emperor himself, so if you don't walk away quietly I'll light up the inside of your skull and when you see your old man you can trade notes on how it feels."

Fett jerked at the mention of his father, who had fallen under the blade of a Jedi almost thirty years ago. It took all his restraint not to blow her smug little ass to hell. But there was something larger at stake here, and he had to keep his eye on the larger prize. Syrella deserved nothing less.

He pulled his fist back and took two steps away from her. She let the weapon slip out from under his helmet, and he was a bit surprised to see that it was, in fact, a lightsaber.

"Targeter's a small fish, and I can find her again," he said. He lifted a hand to point at her. Despite his legendary cool, it trembled slightly. "But you had better pray I never see _you_ again."

He pulled his hood back over his helmet, and faded away into the crowd.

Mara looked out at where Targeter had last been.

She was gone.

**III.**

Commander Luke Skywalker stood at the small podium in the pilot's briefing room on _Yavin Victory_. The display screen on the wall behind him showed a grey planet with vital stats listed next to it. The eleven pilots in his squadron sat before him.

"Mordus VI," Luke began, "is an Imperial weapons depot near the BlasTech factory in the Seswenna sector. They stockpile light arms to be distributed to Imp ground divisions—everything from the standard E-11s up to the E-Web series."

"Are we going shopping, skipper?" Janson asked.

"You got it," Luke answered. "Princess Leia has briefed command on the Sullustan revolution, and as you could imagine, they need more guns. We're going to get some for them."

Luke tapped a key on the podium and the display screen changed. It showed a large armored bunker with shield generator alongside. "This is the facility. You've probably noticed the shield emitter. We've just gotten some intel that the whole unit is down for repairs, and they're having trouble getting it back online."

"Nice," Hobbie said.

"However," Luke said, "they've made alternate arrangements."

He tapped another key. A _Victory_-class star destroyer appeared.

"Crap," Hobbie said.

"Now, as much as I know this squadron is itching to mix with a capital ship, we've made some arrangements of our own to avoid that. There will be a feint at another Imperial target—details are need-to-know—but suffice to say that the VicStar will be called away to assist. We'll break atmo, soften up the bunker, eliminate any defensive batteries, and hit any targets of opportunity along the way."

"Do they have any TIEs?" Wedge asked.

"I imagine they'll have something, but the bulk of their squadrons should be stationed on the VicStar. When they jump away, I'm hoping they'll take the TIEs with them. Obviously, we'll have to deal with anything left behind."

"How are we seizing and transporting the weapons?" Tycho asked.

Luke smiled. "That's our next order of business." The display changed to show a Corellian blockade runner. "_Antares III_ will be joining us—

This elicited grumbling protests.

"—and I've been assured that their hyperdrive is in perfect working order this time, so we won't be left high and dry. _Antares_ will land on the surface when we give the green light. They'll be carrying a commando unit that will raid the facility and load the guns onto the ship. Then we make a break for it before the VicStar returns."

The pilots all nodded in understanding.

"Unless there are any questions, you can report to your fighters for preflight. We launch in one hour. Dismissed."

The orange-clad pilots all got to their feet and headed out of the briefing room. Jenna Teradon, the squadron's sole female pilot, lingered at the rear of the pack until they had all shuffled out. Luke noticed she was holding a black tube that was a little over a meter long. She walked over to him.

"Something on your mind, Jenna?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"I think you know, sir." She fixed her blue eyes on him, and Luke could see that she was tearing up just slightly. "Girls don't fly for the Empire and they rarely fly for the Alliance. If you hadn't stood up for me and made me your wingman, I'd have been the bantha's ass of every joke in the squadron."

Luke stifled a laugh by putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat.

"I thought you might enjoy the reference," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Yes, I did," he said with a nod.

"Anyway," she continued, "I wanted to give you this." She handed over the tube, but Luke held a hand up.

"Jenna, I can't accept any gifts—it's not appropriate."

"It's not really a gift, exactly. Think of it as surplus military gear I procured and presented to my commanding officer."

Luke smiled. "Well, that sounds both proper and intriguing. I guess I'll have to take a look." Luke popped the cap off of the tube and slid out its contents.

A long, black scabbard slid into his hand. It came to an end at a handle that was tightly wrapped in tanned nerf hide. The pommel was an oval of brushed metal.

It was a sword.

Luke looked at her in disbelief. "Is this what I think it is?"

She smiled proudly. "Yes, sir. It's a replica, of course. You obviously can't get a genuine _Katana_ sword anymore—but it's supposed to be as good as the originals carried by all the fleet captains."

Luke pulled off the scabbard to reveal a gleaming silver blade. He thumbed on the button inset in the finger guard and the long vibroblade hummed softly with a steady tone that spoke to its quality.

"I know it's not a lightsaber, but it'll penetrate a stormy's armor. I can't wait to see you lay into the next bunch we take on."

"A _Katana_ sword," Luke marveled. "How did you manage this?"

"Quartermaster owed me a favor. It came in with the last batch of ordnance."

Luke turned it off and slid it back into it's sheath.

He shook his head. "I don't even know how to thank you for this," Luke said softly. He moved forward, lifting his hand for a shake, but Jenna had moved in as well, and threw her arms around him in a tight, quick embrace. She shot him a fast kiss on the cheek and immediately pulled back to a respectable distance. She stood at attention.

"Permission to join the squadron, sir?"

Luke, feeling his cheeks reddening, was at a loss for words. He nodded absently.

She tossed off a salute, winked at him, and walked briskly out the door.

"I hope no one saw that," he mumbled to himself. He looked again at the sword.

"And as for you, my new friend, you'll be riding up front with me from now on."

**IV.**

Onboard Imperial tanker ship 684, a TIE fighter pilot knelt next to the inner hull of the tank section. He had a portable computer on the deck with a cable running into a small satellite dish.

"We're on, sir. Rogue Squadron just made the jump to lightspeed."

"And no other ships have left since Organa's arrival yesterday?" Commander Kedarin asked.

"Affirmative."

Kedarin smiled. The unkempt beard that had grown over the past six months bristled against the inside of his flight helmet. He tapped a button on his chest-mounted control box. "This is the Commander. Man your ships. We launch on my signal."

The black-clad pilots all made for their fighters, eagerly climbing the access ladders on the deployment racks. The six months spent waiting for this moment had been unbearable for all of them.

A stormtrooper in zero-g armor came up beside Kedarin and saluted.

"You have your gear, Lieutenant?"

The trooper raised an industrial cutting torch and lit the flame for a moment and then let it go out again. In his other hand, he held a large, long case containing a portable missile launcher.

"Good. Make sure your aim is exactly accurate—everything depends on it."

Kedarin clapped him on his armored shoulder. The trooper nodded and moved towards the hull. He would begin cutting as soon as all the pilots were in their ships.

The commander made his way to the assault wing's lone double-hulled TIE bomber and dropped into the cockpit. He checked his readouts to make sure the payload was secure. It was.

He took a deep breath. He knew that without shields or hyperdrives, the odds of any of them surviving the attack were remote. Even though he would send a signal to fleet command with their position, it was unlikely that any capital ship could arrive in time to assist.

But it didn't matter. This would be a pivotal moment in Imperial history. He just had to stay alive long enough to launch the bio-weapon.

It could very well be the shot that wins the war.

_**To be continued…**_


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

**I.**

Rogue Squadron flashed out of hyperspace just beyond Mordus VI's gravity well. The grey and white planet filled Luke's entire view from the canopy. He checked his tactical display—_Antares III_ was still with them. It would hang back in orbit while the Rogues took out the base defenses.

The X-Wings broke through the atmosphere and into a sky filled with dense clouds. Visibility was near zero.

"All wings report in," Luke ordered.

"Rogue Three standing by," Wedge said.

"Rogue Four standing by," Hobbie said.

"Rogue Six standing by," Tycho said.

"Rogue Nine standing by," Lak Sivrak growled.

"Rogue Eleven right with you, chief," Janson said.

"Rogue Five standing by," Tarrin Datch said.

"Rogue Ten standing by," Jenna said.

"Rogue Two stand—

Luke's tactical began beeping frantically. It was his target-lock warning system.

"Sir, multiple contacts incoming," Wedge said. "Concussion missiles from the surface—twenty—no, thirty-plus closing in."

"Evasive!" Luke called out. "Lock s-foils in attack position."

Luke juked to the left. He couldn't see a damned thing, but he could sense his wingman Jenna was with him.

"Missiles now at five clicks," Wedge said. "Ten seconds to impact."

"Whoa, Seven—watch out!" Tarrin called out. Luke heard startled curses as more collisions were narrowly avoided.

"Okay, guys, we can't maneuver in this soup—hard about—we'll go beyond the range of those missiles and have _Antares_ launch a spread of countermeasures ahead of us on our next run."

Luke pulled back on his stick and made for the atmosphere and space beyond. He watched on his tactical display as the missiles rate of approach slowed as the squadron flew away from them. Something was bothering him, and the back of his head began to buzz and tingle unpleasantly.

Another alarm sounded from his control board. Artoo cried out from behind him.

"Proximity alert—Rogues, break—

A harsh scream cut him off as Rogue Eight plowed into a solid barrier and exploded, casting an angry red hue throughout the cloud layer.

"Holy frack, skipper, they raised the shields!" Rogue Twelve cried. "They—

"Rogue group, hard about again!" Luke hauled the stick over to port to avoid smashing into the energy field. His fighter came around in a tight arc. Obviously the intel on the shields being offline was totally wrong. Now they were fish in a barrel for the Imp missiles coming up from the surface. He had to keep the pilots focused on one task at a time and avoid panic.

"Dive for the planet surface, full speed. Keep the stick loose and wild—don't let the missiles keep an easy lock."

Luke leaned in against the stick and dove his fighter towards the surface like a meteor. Tactical showed the rest of the squadron had done the same.

Luke closed his eyes and let the force flow through him. The computer's beeping became more and more incessant as the missiles grew closer. Artoo began to scream in alarm as a rocket homed in on them, but Luke had already triggered a blast from his cannons. The missile blew apart half a kilometer ahead of them. They tore through the debris, and it bounced off the deflector shields like pebbles.

There was a stunted cry and a burst of static on the comm.

"Two's hit!" Rogue Five called out. "He's gone."

Luke's X-Wing burst through the cloud cover and into clear sky. The base and the shield generator lay beneath them. He could see narrow streaks of grey smoke trailing from the incoming missiles. With Jenna on his wing, they swooped in and shot up a turbo-laser tower and then climbed away to make another pass.

"All fighters, target the missile launchers and take them out. After we—

"Lead, we have more incoming," Hobbie said. "Twenty-four—say again, two-four eyeballs on approach vector."

Luke watched as a hornet's nest of TIEs came flowing out of the base's hangar bay and towards the Rogues. He felt his stomach drop like a stone.

_It's a trap._

"Okay, everyone stay with your wingman and mark your targets. Wings, try to keep the missiles off your leads while they go for eyeballs. These odds are nothing compared to Yavin or Hoth, so keep your heads and we'll bag them all."

Luke keyed a private comm. frequency to _Antares III_. "Rogue Leader to _Antares_, we are covered in eyeballs and flak from the ground. Mission is blown, repeat, mission is blown. Recommend you abort."

He received a badly garbled response. "Commander, we… closing in… Victory-class firing… engines gone…"

There was a burst of static, and then silence. Luke quickly dialed a broader range into his tactical computer. He now showed a VicStar in orbit, and no sign of a Corellian gunship. _Antares_ was lost.

The Imperials hadn't bought their feint attack in a neighboring system. Their shields were never offline. The VicStar had faked its departure. The rebels had been thoroughly played and were now paying a heavy price.

Luke tucked in behind a TIE and flipped his lasers into rapid-cycle mode. He thumbed off a shot, causing all four cannons to fire in sequence. He blasted the wings off of the TIE, sending the cockpit section spinning towards the ground. The ball bounced on the ground once before disintegrating into a cloud of flaming scrap.

"Lead, you have an incoming missile," Jenna said. "Climb to starboard, I'll nail it."

Luke did so and a hail of red blaster bolts lit up the sky behind him as she fired at the rocket. It blew apart in a ball of flame. She flew straight through it and got back on his wing.

"Great work, Ten—thanks."

"Lead, this is Three."

"Go ahead, Wedge."

"Sir, I did a flyby on the shield generator, and it _has_ undergone some work, but not in our favor. They reinforced the structure with quadanium armor. Our torpedoes might not even penetrate."

Luke hissed through clenched teeth. "We'll just have to—

"Lead, I have two eyeballs on me," Jenna said.

"Standby, Ten" Luke juked left and hit the breaking thrusters on full, which threw him against his harness. All three fighters roared past. Jenna was taking heavy fire to her aft shields. Luke fired main thrusters and got in on their tails.

"Jenna, come about ninety degrees to port."

Luke was prepared to fire, but Artoo's sudden excited hooting grabbed his attention.

Another missile was closing in on him.

Luke held course and kept his thumb on the trigger. Jenna made her move and he blasted the first fighter apart. The second TIE was still on her, drilling countless green energy bolts into her withering shields. The sensation of danger was too much for him to ignore, and he weaved right just as the missile was upon him. It arced past his cockpit, and Luke shot it down before it could reacquire.

He hauled the stick over again, coming around to the other TIE's tail. It was still all over Jenna's fighter, and he began to see black smoke trailing from her engines. Her shields were about to fail.

Luke flipped fire control over to maximum power and reached out with the force. A moment later he fired a quad burst, and all four lasers struck the eyeball simultaneously, blowing it to dust.

"Ten, report," Luke ordered.

"I lost portside engines and my stabilizers are toast. I can't maintain altitude."

"Hang on. Try to have your astro droid reroute—

"Sir, I have four missiles locked on me. I'm all done. I'm going to aim my descent for the generator—maybe I can take it with me."

"Negative, ten."

"Good luck, Luke. Raise a glass to me sometime."

"Jenna, stop!" Luke shouted. "That's an order!"

A black plume of smoke was flowing out of the rear of her battered fighter. One of the s-foils sheared off as she plummeted towards the massive bank of power generators operating the planetary shields.

"Sithspawn, Luke, she won't even make a dent," Wedge said.

The fighter kept gaining speed, trailing dark smoke all the way. The nose of the X-Wing was seconds from impact.

"Ten, eject, eject, eject!"

A heartbeat later—one of the longest that Luke could remember—her ejector seat launched upward, away from the dying fighter. The X-Wing exploded spectacularly against the generator, and the force of the blast caught her seat and buffeted her further up into the sky. Several secondary explosions followed.

"Jenna, come in," Luke called.

The parachute cascaded out of the back of the seat. It opened, and the seat began to lazily descend towards the surface.

"Frack, Luke—I forgot she had a full magazine of torpedoes onboard," Wedge said. "Plus those Imp missiles followed her in. Do you see any fissures in the quadanium?"

"Not from this angle, all I see is smoke. I'm coming around for a closer look. If there is a breach, we'll start making runs on the crack and blow the whole thing to hell."

"Right with you, boss."

As Luke and Wedge maneuvered around the towering smoke, the base's ground-level hangar came into view, where another element was introducing itself to the battle.

An AT-AT lumbered out onto the flat, dusty ground surrounding the base. Its armored head swung ominously from side to side, as if sniffing out a target. The walker's cockpit window seemed to stare out at the two X-Wings, and the two heavy cannons under its chin spat fire up at them.

"Go vertical, now," Luke ordered.

They each banked hard and climbed out of the walker's effective range. Luke looked out of the side of his cockpit and saw the green canopy of Jenna's chute hanging above the dark smoke still rising from the shield generator.

"Jenna, come in. There's an AT-AT down there and you're drifting into its path. Try to maneuver east. Jenna, come in!"

Down at ground-level, the walker emerged from the plume of smoke, head still scanning the area for a target. It craned upwards and fixed its rectangular eye on Jenna.

_By the force, no._

The light rapid-fire cannons on either side of the walker's head opened up, showering the ejector seat and parachute. The chute was torn to shreds under the assault, and the seat was battered and chewed apart.

"No!" Luke screamed.

Tendrils of parachute cloth curled up in mid-air as it burned. What was left of the seat dropped like a stone towards the surface, and Luke attempted to look away from the charred bits of orange flight suit he could see along with it. It fell into the tower of thick smoke and was gone.

Luke's people were dying one-by-one. He tried not to let anger overtake him, but he was only partially successful. Without thinking, he dove back in at the walker and switched over to proton torpedoes. He let fly without even waiting for a lock, and the torpedo flew straight into the walker's neck. It tore through the bottom and exploded, causing secondary explosions inside the main body and the undercarriage. The armored head dropped to the ground with a deep thud that he could hear even in his cockpit. Two more torpedoes soared in from other Rogues, hitting its side.

"Cease fire on the walker," Luke ordered. "Save all torpedoes for the generator."

The impact was enough to knock the headless beast off balance, and it tipped over sideways into the quadanium walls of the shield generator. There was a horrible twisting screech of metal-on-metal.

Luke let out a ragged breath and punched the side of his canopy.

"Commander, you okay?" Wedge asked.

"Fine. Did you get a look at the generator?"

"Yes, sir. There was a crack about a meter across, maybe six high. She did it."

He nodded. "Okay, Wedge. Relay targeting coordinates to the whole squadron."

Luke came about and flew back towards the main group. They had taken refuge in the clouds, using the cover to even the odds against the larger group of TIEs. Luke's tactical display showed they had only lost one other X-Wing so far, and the eyeball squadron was down by six.

_Nice work, guys._

"Hobbie, you still with me?" Luke asked.

"Roger that, Lead. I got two—make that three kills."

"Good work. Wedge is sending over targeting data. I want everyone to dive for the generator and launch all their torpedoes. When it blows, we burn hard for space and jump out of here."

"Affirmative."

The coordinates scrolled across Luke's screen.

"All right, Rogues, on me. Let them have it."

Luke soared through the clouds and swooped straight down at the generator. He weaved to avoid a concussion missile and then got back on target.

He squeezed the trigger three times, and five flaming projectiles launched from the fighter's underbelly. "Torpedoes away."

They all exploded against the generator with enough force to make the downed walker bounce, but the structure itself remained intact.

Tycho came next and unloaded all six of his torpedoes with similar results. He followed Luke around in a big loop that took them straight at the incoming TIEs that had followed them in. They each fired lasers on rapid cycle mode, scattering the eyeball formation and destroying two of the fighters.

"Keep it up, guys—pour on the torps 'till it blows."

Janson's voice boomed over the comm. "Okay, Imps—this is how we did it in the Yellow Aces!"

He fired all of his torpedoes and pulled up hard. There was a secondary explosion that sent a quadanium shard the size of a house whirling away from the structure.

"Rogues, pull up now!" Luke shouted. "All power to aft shields."

They all went vertical and a blinding, seismic explosion rocked Mordus VI beneath them. The main base beside it was shredded by the metal flak and sagged under the blistering heat.

"The shields are down!" Wedge called out.

"Don't stop for anything," Luke said. "Get clear of the planet's gravity well and jump for the fleet."

The fifteen remaining TIEs pursued them, landing shot after shot against their aft deflectors. The rear of the Rogue pack suffered the worst.

"I'm gonna lose my shields!" Rogue Twelve cried out.

"Keep it loose, Roy—dodge the shots," Hobbie said.

"They're all over me!"

The X-Wing blew apart. The TIEs flew around the debris and kept firing.

"Damn it," Hobbie said.

The cloud cover abated and they broke through the atmosphere and into space. Luke had led them on a course exactly opposite of where the VicStar was, and it had not been able to intercept in time.

"Artoo, you have the course plotted?" He chirped an affirmative. "I'm jumping," Luke said. He pulled back the lever.

Star lines shot all around his cockpit and he was pulled back against his seat. There was a flash of light, and he was in the mottled white tunnel of hyperspace.

He slumped in his seat.

"Who made it, Artoo?"

The droid beeped mournfully and the names ran down the computer screen.

There were seven left. Five of them had been killed.

Luke pulled off his gauntlets and threw them against the canopy.

_Almost half of us—gone._

There would be no celebration when they arrived home this time.

**II.**

General Rieekan stood behind the officer seated at the sensor control station on _Yavin Victory's_ bridge. "A heat signature? From which ship?"

"Scans show it coming from Tanker Gamma, sir."

"Is she carrying fuel?" the General asked.

"Negative, sir. This was the tanker we captured several months ago that had no fuel aboard. Records show we've been keeping it around for parts or to sell at some—hold on—now detecting debris coming off the hull. A section was cut loose."

"Do we have a maintenance team over there, Lieutenant?"

"Checking," he said. "Nothing scheduled for today. Should I contact the chief engineer?"

Rieekan nodded. "Get me—

A loud alarm sounded from the Lieutenant's control board. The blood drained from his face. "Incoming missile from the tanker!"

Rieekan spun around to face the tactical station on the other side of the bridge. "Shields, now!"

"Aye, sir, raising shields. Shields are up."

"General, it's already inside the sphere—

The bridge trembled as the missile impacted against the ship. A general alarm howled throughout the ship.

"Damage control, report," Riekkan ordered.

"Looks like a class-four missile hit the thruster array, sir," a female officer answered. "Damage is minimal, but the alignment is off. We can't jump to lightspeed until it's repaired."

Rieekan turned back to sensor control. "Lieutenant, get me a visual on the source of that missile."

The lieutenant punched it in on his control board and the image popped up on his monitor. A zero-g stormtrooper floated just outside the tank section of the fuel carrier. His bulky white armor showed in brilliant contrast against its dark hull. He had a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher.

"Sithspawn," Rieekan breathed. "Weapons, target the tanker and take it out!"

"Sir, massive hull breach on the tanker," the lieutenant said. "The entire dorsal section of the tank has separated." He furiously typed commands into his control board and the monitor changed again to show a full view of the tanker. The top half of the enormous rear cylinder had indeed been blown off and was soaring straight up from the bottom section. A dense cloud of smaller objects boiled out of the center of the tank.

"We have TIE fighters incoming!" the General boomed. He whirled around to reissue his command to weapons control, but a storm of red turbo laser fire burst out and saturated the tanker, making it glow with heat for a moment before it completely exploded, engulfing some of the exiting TIEs with it. The bulk of the fighters cleared the debris and swarmed the rebel dreadnaught, lacing its shields with green laser fire from every direction.

"How many are out there, Lieutenant?"

"Twenty-eight, sir. Twenty-seven starfighters and one bomber."

"Confirm that last—only one bomber?" Rieekan asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Fine. All stations, return fire. Fire at will."

Rieekan drove his fist into the palm of his hand. A sleeper group, inside the fleet for months. Why the hell had they waited so long to make their move? What had changed?

It came to him. More than half of the fleet was off making a feint attack while the Rogues raided Mordus VI. _Yavin Victory_ had stayed behind to protect their support ships, mainly transport and repair vessels and the medical frigate. Anything else that could fight was committed elsewhere.

"Communications, send a message to the fleet. All ships jump to the secondary rendezvous point. And begin jamming protocol." The communications officer confirmed. The other ships flashed away one by one.

"Tactical report," Rieekan ordered.

"Shields are at eighty-nine percent. Our gunners have killed three fighters. The eyeballs are chipping down the shields."

Rieekan shook his head. At this rate, the shields would fall in ten minutes and they'd still have better than a full squadron out there raining hell down on them.

"Tell the gun teams the bomber is a priority target."

"Sir, the bomber is hanging back out of weapons range."

The General nodded. "He's waiting for the shields to come down to engage us. Do we have any fighters onboard?"

"All squadrons are deployed elsewhere, sir," tactical answered. "We have a couple of Y-Wings being repaired, but they aren't ready to fly."

"Understood."

Rieekan watched as an eyeball flying along the dreadnaught's starboard flank was incinerated by a crisscrossing web of turbo-laser fire.

_Why only one bomber? It's payload can't kill a capital ship, even with the shields down._

Still, something about the bomber's posture bothered him. TIE pilots were rarely this conservative.

The heavy doors at the rear of the bridge slid apart and Princess Leia walked in briskly. She came up beside the General. He brought her up to speed.

"How bad is it likely to get once the shields fail?" she asked.

"The fighters have no torpedoes, so even if we still have a lot of them left to deal with, it's unlikely they could destroy the ship. It's the bomber that worries me."

"A TIE bomber only carries eight shells, am I right?" Leia asked.

"Yes, your highness. And eight shells we can weather."

Leia looked at him intently. "But you're still worried."

He nodded. "I have a bad feeling about it. He's being too careful, staying out of the action. Like his part in this is too important to take any chances."

"What could it be carrying, though?" she asked.

Rieekan sighed. "I'm afraid we're going to find out."

**III.**

On Commander Kedarin's tactical screen, the ellipsis surrounding the rebel dreadnaught winked out.

"Their shields are down. All fighters, target the communication array. I need that jamming gone."

Only nine TIE starfighters had evaded the rebels' defensive barrages, and they now swarmed the cruiser's comm. suite, pumping waves of green energy into the antennae and satellite dishes. From his position at the edge of the battle, Kedarin could see small flashes of light as the fighters were blown apart by rebel turbo-laser fire. His screen showed only five fighters left.

_Come on._

There was a brighter burst of light from the dreadnaught's hull. On his bomber's control panel, the long range comm. channels lit green. The array was destroyed.

Kedarin fired his ion engines on full and began his run at the dreadnaught. The double-hulled TIE bomber was not known for speed, but the quick launch still pushed him against his flight chair. He swooped through the battle debris and smoothly avoided the cruiser's massive volleys of canon fire.

_Almost there._

He struck a switch on his control panel. The bio-weapon dropped into the firing chamber. On the secondary hull, the bomb hatch opened and emitted a faint green glow from within.

The dreadnaught now filled his view port. He couldn't miss.

The turbo-laser batteries had created a crisscrossing storm of scarlet energy. Nothing could last long amidst the barrage. His starboard solar panel was hit, blasting off a chunk that ricocheted off of the canopy. The impact almost knocked him off course, but he compensated with a tap on the portside thruster pedal.

He could wait no longer.

"For the Empire!"

He pulled the trigger.

The shell dropped out of the hatch and inertia carried it straight in at the dreadnaught's hull. It impacted without explosion and without fanfare. To the naked eye, it seemed to have simply vanished into the durasteel horizon of the cruiser's flank.

But it _had_ impacted.

Kedarin cried out in victory and struck a preprogrammed button on his console. It would signal his success to fleet command, along with his position and sensor logs.

The commander was afforded nearly three seconds of joyful pride before a massive red laser bolt blew through his view port, through his body, and out the back of the cockpit. His ship, unmanned, tumbled into the dreadnaught's hull and exploded.

The roiling ball of flame managed to seem triumphant.

**IV.**

Darth Vader stood on the bridge of the _Executor_. As per his usual practice, he was looking out at the galaxy through the forward view port and keeping his back to the crew.

Admiral Piett strode briskly across the narrow walkway that bridged the operations crew pit. He arrived behind the dark lord and hesitated for a moment, fighting the urge to turn away from Vader's monolithic figure and move on to other less dangerous business. He swallowed and prepared to speak. Fortunately, Lord Vader should consider his news to be good.

"Yes, Admiral?" Vader said without turning around.

"Excuse me, my lord, but we received the signal you were waiting for from the Seventy-Ninth Fighter Wing."

Vader straightened just noticeably. "And?"

Piett cleared his throat. "The signal reads 'Deployment successful. 3-2-7 mark 8-0.' There was also part of a sensor log transmitted, but the data packet cuts off abruptly. It seems likely that the wing commander was killed during transmission."

"What sector holds those coordinates?"

"Seswenna, my lord."

For several seconds, Vader said nothing, filling the void with his rumbling breaths. "What news of Rogue Squadron?" he demanded.

"They just hit the Mordus VI weapons facility, my lord. It was destroyed. Reports indicate the rebels lost several ships, however, including a Corellian blockade runner."

Vader nodded. He turned to Piett. "Contact our fleet in the Seswenna sector and order them to send a reconnaissance ship the rebel coordinates at once. I want intelligence gathering only. Do not engage."

Piett bowed at the waist, trying in vain to hide his look of confusion. "As you command, my lord." He stepped to the edge of the crew pit and began issuing orders.

_Luke will arrive at his fleet and find the devastation I've wrought upon his friends. They will die in agony and he will be helpless to prevent it. He will hate me all the more—but that hate will bring him to me on swift wings. _

_And this time he will not slip away from me. _

**V.**

Mara Jade lay on the bed in her quarters aboard the _Avenger_. The cabin was pitch dark, but she was fully dressed and her eyes were wide open. Plans and ideas soared through her mind like a meteor shower.

The Mordus VI operation had not gone exactly as planned. Nearly half of Rogue Squadron had been neutralized, and while they hadn't gotten any of the weapons, the depot itself had been completely destroyed. She had more than accomplished her goal of whittling down Skywalker's squadron, but the cost had been significantly higher than anticipated. She would have the ensure that cost was justified when the dust settled.

The door chime interrupted her thoughts. She swung her legs out over the side of the bed and got to her feet with fluid grace. "Enter."

Captain Argus rushed in, though his stride faltered when he unexpectedly burst into complete darkness. The door slid shut behind him.

Mara tapped a control on the bedside table and the lights came up at their lowest intensity. This way she required little adjustment of her eyes, while her visitor still struggled to see, giving her the tactical advantage. She genuinely believed she had nothing to fear from Argus, but these were the habits she had been raised with.

"Madam operative," he said, "I've received word from my contact on the _Executor_."

"The bio-weapon?" she asked.

He nodded.

She smiled tightly. "Then we have them. Set course for Veraant, Captain."

"With pleasure." He gave a small bow and walked out of the cabin, leaving Mara alone in the dim light. She tapped the lighting control again and the room fell back into darkness. She lay back down on the bed.

_Veraant will be the end of Skywalker, and possibly the end of the rebellion. _

_They will all die by the Emperor's hand._

_**To be continued…**_


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

**I.**

Luke awoke from a fitful, half-asleep state inside his X-Wing cockpit. Artoo's persistent whistling told him it was time to revert to realspace. He tried to shake off the nightmare imagery that had dogged him the whole trip home as he reached for the hyperspace lever. He eased it forward, and the mottled light beyond his cockpit separated into star lines, which in turn shrank down to pin points of light.

As he coasted into normal space, a blackened TIE fighter solar panel bounced loudly off of his frontal shields, rattling him.

"What the hell?"

He looked around. The dark vacuum all around him was littered with debris, most of it looking like fighter wreckage. The dreadnaught _Yavin Victory_ was clearly intact, although a closer look quickly revealed enough carbon scoring and hull craters to suggest there had been quite a battle. A glance at his tactical display showed none of the fleet's support ships within sensor range. Luke's comm. unit flashed, indicating that there was an incoming signal. He flipped it on.

A brief text message scrolled onto his computer screen: ALLIANCE CODE 48.

"Rogues, standby for orders," Luke said.

"Acknowledged," Wedge answered.

"Artoo, get me a definition for Code 48."

The droid beeped in acknowledgement and a moment later another succinct message appeared on his screen.

QUARANTINE PROTOCOL.

--

Ten minutes later, Luke and his six remaining pilots set down in the partially lit hangar bay on _Yavin Victory_. They all popped their canopies and climbed out of their X-Wings, each man wearing an oxygen mask clasped over his face. No support crew had come to greet them, so they were forced to jump to the deck in the absence of ladders. This was no surprise to Luke, given the individual who had finally answered his hail just minutes ago.

"Oh, Master Luke, Master Luke!"

Several pilots went for their side arms, but Luke held up a gauntleted hand to stand them down.

The dim lights reflected off of C-3PO's golden exterior and his servo's whirred loudly as he shuffled across the deck towards the X-Wings.

"It's me, Threepio—it's okay." Luke tried to sound soothing, but his voice came out tinny through the mask's small microphone. He felt none of the calmness he was trying to exude, but he knew it would be difficult enough to keep the protocol droid sensible without him exacerbating things.

"Oh, thank the maker. You have no idea what I've been through. Is Artoo with you as well?"

The astro droid whistled a big affirmative from atop Luke's fighter.

Luke took Threepio by the shoulders and steadied him.

"Okay, Threepio—very calmly and slowly—tell me everything that's happened here, starting with why you were the only one around to answer my hail."

--

Luke stood at the foot of a cot in sickbay. Princess Leia Organa was its occupant. The former senator and current revolutionary leader was normally the very essence of resilience and command, no matter the circumstances.

Now she writhed in agony upon thin bed sheets, pulling at them with clenched fists and digging her heels into the mattress. A sheen of sweat covered her face. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes were clamped shut.

To her left and right, from wall to wall, every other cot and bio-bed held a person in similar condition. Outside, the corridors were lined with officers and crewman lying on the floor. The half-dozen Two-One-Bee med-droids onboard were making rounds, but there were hundreds of people to tend to.

"Luke?"

He slowly turned towards the voice, his eyes dim and hopeless.

"What's up, Tycho?"

"I was able to reach Winter. She's off-ship on assignment. She ran a search on the Suuron virus and this Triladasine drug we need to get a hold of, and she found a cache of it only a few hours jump from here."

Luke straightened up. "Really?"

"The news isn't all good, though. The drug was recalled by the manufacturer, a company called BioWorks. Their base of operations is on a little crossroads planet called Veraant."

"Was it recalled because the medicine was tainted?" Luke asked.

"That's what we thought at first, but Winter did some more poking around. Seems there's an ImpStar Deuce in orbit of the planet."

"And I'd guess that's more protection than normal for a backwater spot like this."

"A lot more," Tycho answered. "That place hasn't seen a capital ship since the Clone Wars at least."

Luke nodded. "So it's a trap."

"Yes, sir."

Luke put a hand at the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He exhaled a long breath and let his hand drop back down. It grazed Leia's foot, which was tangled beneath the bed sheets.

She launched upwards at the waist, tearing an I.V. out of her arm. She wildly swung both arms, clawing and punching at the air. Her eyes were wide open, but she comprehended none of her actual surroundings.

"_Get away from me! I won't go back, get away from me! _

"Leia, stop—it's okay!" Luke said. He and Tycho moved in to restrain her and Luke took a shot in the face. Tycho managed to get a hold of one wrist, but her spasms were so intense she threatened to throw herself off of the bed. Three of the medical droids approached.

"Please step aside, gentlemen. We must provide a sedative."

Tycho and Luke held on until the three droids were in place and holding her before they stepped back. Leia struggled against the two droids holding her while the lead droid administered the injection. She threw her head back and her mouth gaped in a silent scream.

_My vision. It's exactly like my vision._

_How could I let this happen? _

--

The remaining Rogues—Luke, Wedge, Tycho, Hobbie, Janson, Tarrin, and Lak Sivrak—along with C-3PO—reassembled in the main hangar. Tarrin and Lak Sivrak had stayed behind to refuel the ships while Luke and company moved about the ship. Luke and Tycho brought them all up to speed on the virus and the trap at Veraant. The others reiterated what they had found.

"We found General Rieekan and Major Derlin out for the count as well," Hobbie said. "All the other command officers onboard were infected, too."

"This virus doesn't discriminate," Wedge said. "Sullustans, Mon Cals, Duros—you name it—they're all down. Only thing running the ship now are the droids."

Luke turned to his protocol droid. "Threepio, where's Chewie and the _Falcon_?"

"I believe he is ferrying Mister Lobot to his next port of call," he answered. "Apparently his business here was completed."

Luke nodded. He checked the chronometer imbedded on his flight suit sleeve. "The decoy fleet is overdue."

"Do you think the Imps got them, too?" Janson asked.

"I don't know," Luke said.

"If they were destroyed…" Wedge said.

"Then we're all that's left," Luke finished.

A silence hung over them as each man digested that possibility. No one wanted to be the indecisive person. The weak person. The person who asked, 'will we still go on?'

Luke's eyes were fixed downward. He did not look up as he began to speak.

"I'm done losing people. I'm done letting the Empire take people from me. Everyone I've ever loved in my whole life is dead or dying. I'm stopping it."

"We're with you, Luke," Wedge said softly.

"Hold up one second," Luke answered. "I'm going to tell you what we're doing, and then each of you decides on his own." Luke's gaze came back up and looked each of them in the eyes as he laid it all out. "We saddle up, we jump for Veraant. We blow by their ships and make for the lab. We knock down anyone who stands in our way. We load the medicine into our cargo compartments. We blast our way out. Anyone who gets clear jumps for home. No one looks back.

"I can't imagine," Luke continued, "that we'll all make it out. It's very possible that none of us will make it. But there's seven of us standing here, and six-hundred of our friends on their backs—dead tomorrow unless we can bring back the cure.

"The simple truth of it is, seven men do not constitute a rebellion. If the crew of _Yavin Victory_ dies, the Alliance will probably die with it. I think any risk we can take to prevent that is justified. And if I have to die, I can't think of any better way to go out than fighting the Imps, and saving my friends.

"Now, who's in?" Luke asked.

"Still with you," Wedge said.

"I'm in," Janson said.

"As am I," said Lak Sivrak.

"In," Hobbie said.

"In," Tycho said.

"Yeah, me too," Tarrin said.

Luke nodded. "Sounds good."

"Saddle up, boss?" Wedge asked.

"Not yet. We have squadron business to attend to first." Luke reached into a pouch on his utility belt and took out his canteen. "Canteens out," he ordered.

Janson and Hobbie looked at each other questioningly as they pulled out their canteens. Wedge was already holding his canteen out in front of him. Tycho was too, and he had tears in his eyes. The rest produced their canteens as well. They all wore breathing masks, so they could not drink. Not that it really mattered.

Luke held his container up in salute.

"To Dack Ralter. A great marksman, and a patriot. He had enough passion to fight the Empire for a hundred years."

"Zev Senesca," Wedge said, voice wavering. "Rock solid pilot, and a dangerous bastard at the sabaac table. I owe him fifty credits, and my life a bunch of times over."

"Evett Moonseeker," Tycho said with a smile. "A very decent guy. He handled a ship as well as he handled the ladies."

"And at the same time, I might add," Janson chimed in. They all laughed, recalling one particular incident.

Luke smiled, but pounded the hull of his X-Wing twice with his fist as if it were a gavel. "Come on, let's keep it clean."

"Okay, Ranuk Ronn," Janson said. "One of the first Sullustans to take the fight to the Imps. He was my wingman since Hoth. He took a missile that was meant for me. That's why I'm still here."

Hobbie cleared his throat. "To Roy Striver. He had a lot of potential. And a hell of a singing voice."

"Was he the one singing Corellian opera in the showers?" Tarrin asked.

"Absolutely," Wedge answered. "A glorious little slice of home."

"It was like vibroblade through skull," Lak Sivrak growled. "But he had good spirit."

"He was seventeen," Hobbie said. The smiles faded. He shook his head.

Luke hefted his canteen once more. "To Jenna Terradon. She fought every inch of the way to get into this squadron, and took everyone's crap with a smile. Her sacrifice saved every one of us here. She went out as bravely as any man could ever hope to. I'll miss her."

They moved into a circle and all touched canteens in the center.

"Long live Rogue Squadron," Luke said.

"Rogue Squadron," they each repeated.

"Now saddle up," Luke said. "And may the force be with you."

**II.**

The Imperial star destroyer _Avenger_ held orbit around the planet Veraant. Mara Jade stood on the bridge alongside Captain Argus. She wore a black uniform with four rank cylinders, but no officer insignia.

A lieutenant approached them. "Excuse me, Captain."

"Go ahead," Argus responded.

"The Major reports his team in is position on the surface."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Carry on."

Argus turned to Mara. "That was the last of the preparations. When do you think we can expect Skywalker to make his entrance?"

Mara did not shift her gaze from the main view port. The light coming off of the planet reflected in her green eyes.

"Soon," she said.

**III.**

Darth Vader turned away from the _Executor's_ main view port once more.

"What is it, Admiral?" he demanded.

Piett swallowed. "Forgive me, my lord, but we are unable to contact our fleet in the Seswenna sector."

"How many ships are there?"

"Three destroyers, my lord. Imperial-class, Mark II."

"And they do not answer our hails?"

"No, my lord—they appear to be maintaining radio silence, but there are no orders on record for any special missions."

"Access their transponder codes and determine their heading," Vader ordered.

Piett, standing in the operations pit, relayed the command to a crewman seated in front of him. He watched as the crewman pulled the navigational data.

"They are on course for a planet called Veraant, my lord."

"What significance does that world hold, Admiral?"

"Very little, based on the I.I.S. estimate. It has a small port and one pharmaceutical manufacturing facility—

Vader whirled around. "Which manufacturer?" he demanded.

"It's called BioWorks, my lord." Piett scanned the intelligence data on the monitor. "They're a niche company and produce drugs that combat rare diseases including Taralens, Porvex syndrome, Suuron virus—

"What is the drug for treating Suuron virus?"

"Triladasine, my lord."

"How much is currently stored at the facility?"

Piett scanned through more of the data. His eyes widened. "All of it, my lord," he said. "It was recalled last month without explanation."

"Set course for that planet, Admiral. Maximum speed."

"Yes, my lord."

Vader stormed off of the bridge, his black cloak flowing behind him.

**IV.**

In the dimly lit cockpit of _Slave I_, Boba Fett stared intently at his computer screen. He read the message again, just to be sure.

_Master Fett, I am entrusting you with the following I.I.S. report:_

IMPERIAL NINTH FLEET, SESWENNA SECTOR, EN ROUTE FOR VERAANT. IMPERIAL FLAGSHIP _EXECUTOR_ ALSO HEADED FOR VERAANT—SEPARATELY. MISSION AND TARGET UNKNOWN.

_My own sources indicate that there is a rebel operation underway on Veraant and that Luke Skywalker is in command. There will be other parties interested in apprehending him, but their motives are unclear. For reasons of galactic security, the Emperor wants him eliminated. _

_Go to Veraant immediately. Do not allow Skywalker to escape. _

_We have leads on Calrissian that we will disclose to you if you can present proof of Skywalker's death._

_Good luck._

_Ysanne Isard._

_Director, Imperial Intelligence Service._

Boba Fett turned to the navicomputer and plotted his course.

One minute later, he was burning hard for Veraant.

_**To be continued…**_


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

**CHAPTER 16**

**I.**

Emperor Palpatine and Ysanne Isard sat together at one end of a long dining table in the Imperial Palace. Palpatine sat at the head position, while Isard sat adjacent to him on the left hand side. The grand chamber was dark. The long table was made of granite, and the floors were black marble shot through with red. The walls were the same dark gunmetal favored in many Imperial installations, although they arched inward as they ascended to cathedral heights, where they formed an intricate, spider-like lattice-work. A chandelier hung by black chains. It was studded with candles made from Mandalorian wax. The flames they produced gave the whole room a muted crimson glow.

"What is on your mind, my dear?" he asked.

Isard smiled mischievously. "Surely you know, your Excellency."

"Indeed, but conversation must be made."

She cut into her meat. The center was quite rare, and its bright red color was accentuated by the room's lighting.

"I was wondering who would come out ahead at Veraant."

"And?" he prodded.

"And I was wondering, master, why you would pit such a formidable group of warriors against one another."

The Emperor cut at his meat and pushed the piece to the side of his plate. Isard knew he only mimed eating, using the pretense of the meal as an excuse for these conversations of theirs.

"Why do you think?"

"I think you suspect Lord Vader of harboring treasonous desires. I think you are, in Vader's mind, the only obstacle standing between himself and the galaxy's throne. You know he seeks to bring Luke Skywalker into the fold to join forces with him in a coup against you."

"This is all true," he said simply.

She grinned. "All that being so, I believe you have orchestrated the elimination of both of them by allowing each to be placed on an insignificant world at the same time. You can then order _Executor_ to bombard the planet and turn it into a cinder. Both threats are then dealt with in a blow that costs us but a few pennies in lost taxes and a bit of wear on the flagship's turbo-laser cannons."

The Emperor let out a rasping laugh that terminated in a cough. "A brilliant plan, my dear—I wish I had thought of it myself. But alas, I have something different in mind."

"I would be honored if you would allow me to learn from your mastery," she said.

He set his knife and fork down. He turned to look at her.

"I have foreseen that his war will soon reach its conclusion. I need a powerful apprentice to wield the sword and wipe out the rebellion once and for all. Lord Vader has been charged with this task for several years now, and for several years he has not only failed to destroy them, but they become more powerful as the years go by. Ultimately, he may not be the warrior who is capable of victory over our enemies.

"And so, to that end, I have watched—and in some cases, guided—the finest individual warriors in my empire to an arena."

Her head came up. "That's why you wanted me to send Boba Fett to Veraant."

"Indeed."

Isard's eyes darted from side to side as ideas raced through her mind. "And my reports of a red-headed female agent aboard the _Avenger_? Your Hand?"

He smiled. "She, too, is headed for the arena."

"A battle royale," Isard marveled.

"No one person has any allegiance to the other, with the exception of Vader's interest in Skywalker. Skywalker, in turn, has many reasons to kill Vader, and my Hand would gladly kill them both."

Isard nodded. "And Fett reported that a red-headed agent accosted him on Eriadu, costing him a lead on the rebels. He would certainly not hesitate to dispatch her if the occasion arose. Plus he has a personal stake in taking Skywalker down."

"And the boy may well wish to avenge Fett's role in the capture of Captain Solo, particularly with his inheritance of the Skywalker anger."

Isard sliced off another piece of meat. "It's going to be a blood bath. I wish I could be there to see it."

"The strongest one of them will emerge from the carnage, and take their rightful place at my side."

"And if they all kill each other?"

He shrugged casually. "All apprentices seek to surpass their masters, and supplant them. When this war concludes, I will have no need of an apprentice, particularly one whose sole focus would become my downfall. If no one survives this conflict, I will simply have to take a more direct role in the war, and be spared the task of eliminating my apprentice in the future."

Isard frowned. "Forgive me for asking, master, but if you ultimately want these people dead, why not just arrange for it to happen now?"

Palpatine smiled. His yellow eyes remained piercing and cruel.

"I must have my little amusements."

**II.**

Luke Skywalker's X-Wing barreled through the bright tunnel of hyperspace. Artoo beeped a warning—they were ten seconds from Veraant.

Luke had ordered the squadron not to set hard coordinates for the jump. They had aimed their course for the planet and would let its natural gravity pull them from hyperspace. No breaking thrusters would be fired. They would go full bore for the surface.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and let all his dark emotions—fear, uncertainty, rage—roll out of him in a cleansing exhalation. All that remained was his determination—his will that the mission had to succeed. He wrapped his gauntleted left hand around the stick and reached up with his right hand to touch the s-foil switch.

The mottled tunnel broke down into star lines that raced past the nose of his fighter. He tore into realspace on a course that carried him straight across the white, arrowhead bow of an Imperial Star Destroyer. As he soared along the dorsal section of its hull, the turbo-lasers on the Impstar fired in a reflex that was too late to be a threat. The massive batteries lumbered around on their turrets to track the X-Wings, but were too slow to come to bear on the fighters.

Luke threw the switch above him and his s-foils separated. He did not need to order his pilots to do the same. A quick glance at the tactical display told him all seven of them were flying hot in a loose formation towards the planet.

A defensive screen of TIE fighters was patrolling just past the Destroyer. As Luke closed in on them, he nudged the stick to the left and put the X-Wing on its side, slipping through a gap in their formation and blasting past them. One of the Rogues triggered a quad burst and blew away an eyeball in his path. The TIEs came about in pursuit, but could not hope to match the snub fighters' momentum.

There was a rumbling of the fuselage and his fighter's nose glowed red as he broke through the atmosphere.

"Okay, Rogues, this is it—head straight for the lab. Janson, Sivrak, and me will land and grab the meds any way we can. The rest of you have to keep the TIEs off us until we get back in the air. We save the torps for the way out. Clear?"

"We copy, Lead," Wedge said.

"All right then. Fly the best you've ever flown. Stay alive. And may the force be with you."

Artoo cried out shrilly from behind him. He checked his tactical display again, and felt his heart freeze in his chest.

Everything had just gone to hell.

**III.**

Mara Jade's jaw dropped just slightly as seven X-Wings flashed into existence and shot past the _Avenger_ in the blink of an eye. She snapped her head towards Captain Argus. "We're on. Signal the reserves."

Argus made a motion to his executive officer down in the operations pit. As he turned back towards the main view port, green laser blasts were lashing out at the space the X-Wings had blown threw seconds before.

"Starboard batteries hold fire," Argus ordered. "They're already beyond our effective range. We're more likely to hit our own fighters in pursuit."

Mara turned to him. "Launch all six squadrons, but I only want two of them going after the Rogues. The rest will remain in orbit as part of the blockade." She wanted to avoid the classic folly of sending tremendous amounts of fighters after a small group of raiders. It created an environment where the enemy could hit them with virtually every shot while the larger force struggled not to collide with one another and avoid friendly fire. "Is my fighter ready?"

Argus nodded. "The chief engineer inspected the prototype himself. He said she'll run circles around those rebel dung heaps."

"Thank you, Captain."

He extended his hand. "Good luck, Madam Operative."

Mara shook it firmly, and broke into a run for the turbolift.

"Captain, we have a hyperspace proximity alert," the X.O. announced.

Argus again turned back to the main view port.

Two more Imperial Star Destroyers flashed out of hyperspace.

He smiled tightly. "We are indeed on."

Between the three Mark II Destroyers, they had one-hundred fifty turbo-laser batteries and eighteen squadrons of TIEs—two-hundred sixteen fighters—at their command. They could lock this world down tight or reduce it to ashes if necessary. Either way, those X-Wings were never leaving. The diseased rebellion would wither and die in short order, and Vader's plan to seize power with Skywalker would be shattered in its infancy.

Another signal sounded from the pit. The X.O. leaned in over a sitting crewman to peer at the monitor.

"Sir, we have another proximity alert. One more ship emerging."

A colossal, slate-gray dagger roared into realspace, eclipsing the _Avenger_ and its support ships.

Argus' smile collapsed.

It was the _Executor_.

**IV.**

Darth Vader unclenched his shaking fist. At his feet lay the remains of Commander Juran Haramin. Where as the dark lord was famous for using his thumb and finger to close a man's throat, he was particularly upset with Haramin for his failure to monitor Veraant BioWorks for changes in the antidote supply. In making a fist, he had constricted considerably more than his victim's throat. The results were decidedly gruesome.

"Your apology is _not_ accepted, Commander Haramin," he said to the sack of flesh at his feet. He turned to the Assistant Chief Engineer, whose twitching facial muscles suggested he was trying hard to hold onto his calm, as well as his breakfast. "You are promoted to Chief Engineer. See if you can devise a way to have this mess removed from the engine room."

"Yes, my lord," he managed.

There was a beep from Vader's belt. He tapped a key on one of the control pads.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"My lord, we are five minutes from Veraant," Piett said over the comm..

Vader turned and moved off towards the bridge turbolift.

--

"Report, Admiral," Vader said. He was striding across the Captain's walk to where Piett stood at the main view ports. The green and white world of Veraant filled the space beyond the window. In the distance, an Imperial Star Destroyer could be seen holding orbit.

"The Destroyers _Avenger_, _Adjudicator_, and _Reciprocator_ are all in orbit, blockading the planet, my lord. Sensors show there are seven X-Wing-class fighters headed for the surface. Two squadrons of TIEs are in pursuit. Their transponders show them to be from the _Avenger_."

"The _Avenger_ was part of our fleet at Hoth. Her Captain proved a disappointment and was forced out of the service."

Piett looked down at the deck. "Yes, my lord. Captain Needa."

"Who is Captain, now?"

"Captain Argus, my lord. _Avenger's_ former Executive Officer."

"Hail him and order him to recall his squadrons."

"As you wish, my lord." He signaled his own X.O. down in the operations pit and then walked over to the holo-emitter station on the portside portion of the bridge. A life-sized image of Argus appeared before him.

"A pleasure to see you again, Admiral," Argus saluted.

"Likewise, Captain. I'm afraid I must order you to recall your fighters and leave the rebels to us."

"And I ask your forgiveness, Admiral, but I'm afraid I cannot obey that order," Argus replied. "I have orders directly from the Emperor that _Avenger_ is to destroy these rebels at any cost."

Out of Piett's peripheral vision, he could see Vader's head turn in his direction. He would have to salvage this situation quickly if he was to prevent the death of another seasoned Imperial officer.

"I don't wish to call you a liar, Argus, but the Emperor has not spoken directly to a fleet captain in decades. How did you receive this order?"

"Through his special envoy," Argus answered confidently. "She is leading the fighter group pursuing the rebels."

"Captain, I—

Piett felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and he was firmly pulled back out of the way as Vader interposed himself between him and Argus.

"Did this woman have red hair, Captain?" Vader demanded.

Argus swallowed. His jaw worked in his mouth.

_By the dark side, he's going to blow his stack, _Piett thought_. He has a grudge against Vader and he's going to lose his restraint and get himself killed_.

"Yes," Argus bit out. "Lord."

"Listen to me carefully. That _woman_ is one of dozens of errand girls the Emperor sends throughout the galaxy to test the loyalty and sanity of the soldiers under his command. You have proven yourself, Captain, but the game is over. Obey the Admiral."

Argus' face was flushed. The corners of his mouth trembled. "My Lord, I cannot—

"How many captains must your crew lose, Captain?"

Argus thrust his chin forward defiantly. "As many as necessary, Lord Vader. No member of this crew will disobey the Emperor."

Vader's hand snaked upwards and Argus' hands immediately went to his throat.

"I trust I have your attention _now_, Captain."

Argus forced himself to return his hands to his side. He stood rigidly, his face darkening with each passing moment.

"Your anger and will are impressive, Captain Argus, but I do not have time for them. You may be prepared to die, and your officers may choose to as well, but know if you do not comply with my commands I will blow your ship from the stars with all hands. The choice is yours, but make it quickly."

_Over forty-five thousand men_, Piett thought. _Don't be a fool, man._

Argus held up a hand. Vader let his thumb and forefinger drift apart.

"I will comply," Argus gasped. He bent over and put his hands on his knees. He coughed deeply and his shoulders heaved.

"An excellent choice, Captain. The Empire needs steel spines like yours to defeat the rebels." Vader raised a hand and pointed directly at him.

"But do not test me again."

--

As Vader's image dissolved from the holo-emitter, Argus fell to his knees. His officers rushed over to help him up.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," he rasped. "I couldn't—

He broke off in a fit of coughing.

"I doubt very much the men would seek your apology, sir," the X.O. said. "I know we don't."

Argus nodded. "Signal the operative," he said.

"Tell her it's over."

_**To be continued…**_


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17**

**I.**

Luke hauled back on the stick and pulled his X-Wing up out of its dive just in time to avoid plowing into Veraant's evergreen forest. One of the TIE fighters dogging him misjudged it, and its starboard wing panel caught the peak of a pine tree. It somersaulted forward and exploded beneath the forest canopy.

But there were still plenty more left to keep up the chase.

"Rogue Three, you still with me?"

"Hanging in, boss," Wedge answered. "But we still have more than twenty eyeballs on us."

The plan had quickly taken a turn for the worse after they blew past the Impstar in orbit. Two more Deuces had jumped in-system a few minutes later, and then came the show-stopper:

A Super Star Destroyer arrived.

The _Executor_.

Vader's ship.

_My father's ship?_

Luke shook off the thought. The more pressing issue was that they had been trapped yet again, and this time they were at nearly half-strength with an enemy force that outgunned them ten-thousand-to-one blockading the planet. They could sit in orbit and launch squadron after squadron of TIEs to overwhelm them. Or they could turn the big guns on the planet and reduce everyone and everything to a smoking cinder. Either way, their odds of survival had now become so infinitesimal that even Han Solo would have been given pause.

And the existence of the Alliance—and by extension, the freedom of the galaxy—rode firmly on their wings.

As a swarm of TIE fighters closed in on them from above and behind, Wes Janson pulled up in a long arc that put him perpendicular to a flight of TIEs. He showered them with three full cycles of laser blasts, which lanced through the hexagonal wings of the closest two. The bolts stabbed into the cockpits, exploding one fighter in midair while the other wobbled downward spastically into the tree line and disappeared.

"I gotta hand it to you, skipper," Janson called out, "this is even heavier than advertised. You don't disappoint."

"I do what I can," Luke said. "Okay guys, I don't have to tell you it doesn't look good. We have to carry the fight towards the lab, and thin out the eyeballs as we go. The best we can hope for is a big enough break in their deployments that one man can put down and grab some cure. Then we look for a miracle."

"It's been an honor, Luke," Wedge said.

"Second that," Tycho said.

Artoo squealed for Luke's attention. Three eyeballs were right on top of him. They each fired their cannons at him, unloading countless energy bolts past him into the pine trees, causing branches to splinter and fires to blossom.

Luke fired breaking thrusters, and the closest TIE clipped his aft shields as he tried to avoid a collision. The impact sent him flipping out of control and exploding into a tree trunk. As the other two soared past, Luke jammed his thumb against the firing button. He nailed a bolt into the back-right quarter of one eyeball's cockpit, and another one blew out the small rear window. The third and forth tore the wings off and the whole fighter blew apart. He nudged the stick over and flipped the firing controls over to quad-burst. One well placed shot incinerated the wingman.

"Save it for later," Luke said sharply. "If they're going to take us, I want those Impstars to go home with their hangar bays empty."

"Roger that," Hobbie said.

"Lead, they're trying to drive us east," Tycho said.

"And we need to head west," Luke answered. "Engage when you can, guys, but we have to stay on course."

"Luke, I have some weird-looking eyeball on me," Hobbie said. "Looks like something new. I can't shake him."

Luke turned his head left and saw the red exhaust jets of Hobbie's X-Wing headed towards a white-peaked mountain range jutting out above the tree line on the horizon. The enemy ship was hot on his tail.

"I'm on my way."

Luke continued to skirt the peaks of the evergreens, and eased his left foot down on the portside rudder-pedal, bringing his nose around to orient on Hobbie's position.

Behind him was a TIE fighter of a configuration Luke hadn't seen before. It had wings that were long horizontally, where as the standard eyeball had wings that were vertical. The forward portion of the wings split into two dagger-like prongs, each capped with a blaster cannon. It was sleek and mean. And judging by the way the pilot was sticking to Hobbie's tail, the same could probably be said of the pilot. The new fighter drilled shot after shot into the snub fighter's rear shields.

Luke soared in at an angled vector and loosed a flurry of scarlet laser blasts at the TIE. The pilot juked and weaved almost immediately after he pulled the trigger and narrowly avoided taking any hits.

_That might have been luck, but I bet there's a reason they gave this guy the fancy new ship. I have to take him down quickly for Hobbie's sake._

Luke thumbed weapons control over to torpedoes. He hated to use one so early in the game, but losing anyone before they were even within sight of the lab severely diminished their chances of putting a man on the ground to grab the meds. But even more than that, he refused to watch another friend die.

The HUD went green as the TIE bobbed in and out of the targeting box. He would need to keep the mark in the crosshairs for two seconds before he got a solid tone and could launch with a tracking lock. The Imp pilot wasn't making it easy, but at least all the maneuvering was keeping him from pounding on Hobbie's aft shields.

In the meantime, the fairly steady course Luke had to fly to go for the lock was making him an easy target for the pack of TIEs on his rear. His aft shields were fading fast and the constant shuddering of impacting shots worked his nerves. Artoo was hooting up a storm from his socket, no doubt keeping him informed of their plummeting percentage of shield strength. With fire raining down from all sides and one of his pilot's heads on the chopping block, his mind still found time to empathize with the droid. Artoo could only ride along out back, strapped into whatever doom his master chose to pursue. There was nothing to do but scream against the wind and hope the guy up front had a second to read the text translation of what could be your last words.

Luke glanced down at the readout. Two short sentences glowed in red.

AFT SHIELDS ARE DOWN.

IT'S EITHER HOBBIE OR US.

As the snow topped mountain range grew to fill the sky before them, Luke's HUD went red and Artoo let out a solid, steady whistle. There was something he sensed about this pilot. A threat that had to be dealt with.

"It's not gonna be Hobbie, and we're not going alone."

Artoo beeped frantically trying to tell him something, but Luke wasn't listening.

He squeezed the trigger.

**II.**

Mara Jade eased forward the control wheel of her fighter and dropped in behind one of the X-Wings. She was impressed with the new TIE Interceptor's performance. As Seinar Systems had advertised, it maneuvered far better within an atmosphere than its predecessor.

_But I still could've used shields and a hyperdrive._

The heads-up-display bracketed the X-Wing's tail in red and she pressed down the firing buttons on each handle of the controls. Brilliant green laser bolts fired in sequence from the four cannons on the Interceptor's wings. The protective shield around the X-Wing hissed and sparked. The pilot tried to bob and weave out of her line of fire, but she stuck with his every move.

_Won't be long now, chief. You can kiss your—_

A warning sense buzzed sharply in her mind. She shook the control wheel spasmodically, making the fighter jump and dance at irregular intervals. Scarlet energy bolts filled the air to either side of her. She wanted to reach out with the force to get a sense of the pilot, but just dodging his onslaught was taking all of her concentration. In any case, there was only one Rogue that could, in theory, push her to her limits.

She was about to veer away from her quarry to go head-to-head with Skywalker, but a priority communication was flashing insistently on her console. She struck the key impatiently.

"What is it, _Avenger_?"

"Madam Operative, abort mission," the voice said. "Return to _Avenger_ at once."

"Negative, _Avenger_. Let me have Argus."

"He is—" there was a pause "—still unavailable."

"Soldier, if you don't—

"Madam, the _Executor_ is in orbit and Lord Vader commands us to stand down. If we do not, he will destroy us."

Mara hit the mute button and shouted a vicious string of curses. She punctuated the tirade with a hard punch against the inner hull. She exhaled sharply and struck the key again.

"Advise Captain Argus to comply with Vader for now, but stay ready." She dodged more of Skywalker's shots, and silently damned the pilots on his tail for not vaping him ages ago. "_Executor_ will receive new orders from Imperial Center momentarily."

"Madam, I—

The pulsing alarm of her torpedo-lock warning system filled the cabin.

"Frack it!"

They had reached the massive granite mountain range that had loomed on the horizon throughout the dogfight. The pilot in front of her had already maneuvered around the first rock formation. She was two seconds away from impacting against it.

The pulsing alarm went to a solid tone as Skywalker let fly his torpedo. Mara fired a volley of laser blasts into the rock face, blowing huge chunks of stone into the air. She stamped on the starboard rudder pedal, coming around hard in a right turn that threw her back into the left corner of her seat.

The torpedo exploded spectacularly against the boulders she had placed in its path, rattling her fighter as she skirted the edge of the blast radius. She leveled off and checked her tactical display. There was no one pursuing her.

Skywalker and his wingman had broken off and were on course to regroup with the rest of his squadron headed for the pharmaceutical lab. Her two squadrons of TIEs had all disengaged and were headed back to _Avenger_. The skies around her had quieted considerably.

Mara turned a dial on the console and expanded the range of her tactical display. She confirmed that _Executor_ was indeed in orbit, and had deployed one squadron which was just entering the atmosphere. It contained twelve of the new Interceptors, and one TIE X-1 Advanced.

_That will be Vader._

Mara came about at a reduced speed and tailed the Rogues from a comfortable distance. She didn't want to lose them, but she needed a minute to concentrate. She reached out with the force towards the bright center of the universe—towards the seat of power in the galaxy.

_Master, I need your help._

**III.**

The Emperor had been speaking to his dining companion when he suddenly stopped.

_I have trapped Skywalker at a planet called Veraant. Lord Vader has come with the _Executor_ and threatens to destroy my fleet if we do not stand down. This will likely be our best chance to take Skywalker and I don't want to lose it, Master._

"Your Excellency?" Isard asked with concern.

"Excuse me a moment, my dear." Palpatine pushed back his chair and stood up with a slowness that at once conveyed advanced age and malevolent power. He made his way over to a holo-emitter station at the far end of the dining hall. One of his crimson guards stood near it at the ready.

"_Executor_," he commanded.

The guard bowed and tapped a few keys on a neighboring console. A moment later, an extremely nervous Admiral Piett appeared. His shimmering image knelt on the emitter pad.

"I await your command, Your Excellency."

"Where is Lord Vader?" Palpatine asked.

"He is leading a fighter squadron to the surface in pursuit of a group of rebels, Your Excellency."

"Recall them on my authority, Admiral. I have urgent business on Imperial Center and I want my flagship present. Our remaining fleet can more than handle a few suicidal rebels."

"Yes, Excellency."

"Make all possible haste, Admiral. We will see you at the Capitol."

--

Piett bowed his head and the Emperor's image faded away. He stood up and turned to his Executive Officer. All color had drained from his face.

"Put me through to Lord Vader," he said. "And be prepared to take command in case I do not survive the delivery of this message."

**IV.**

Darth Vader's TIE Advanced roared through Veraant's atmosphere. A dozen Interceptors flew in formation off his port and starboard wings.

The message indicator on his comm. unit showed a priority signal. He tapped a key.

"Yes, Admiral?" he rumbled.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but the Emperor commands that we withdraw from this system and return to Imperial Center immediately."

_And now the game is revealed_, Vader thought. _He either wants to test my mettle against Skywalker's once again, or wants him killed outright before we can join forces against him_. The answer would be known to him based on what the _Avenger_ fleet did after _Executor_ left. If they deployed their fighters to overwhelm the X-Wings, his master desired a simple execution. If the fleet only maintained its blockade, then it was a contest for his position at the Emperor's side.

_Just as it was with Dooku, all those years ago._

"Be very clear, Admiral. Did the Emperor specifically say that _I_ must return with you?"

There was a pause. "Not specifically, my Lord, but I—

"Then I will remain here to ensure that Skywalker is dealt with."

"His Excellency commanded the return of our fighters, my Lord."

"Then it will be so," Vader answered. He keyed in the squadron frequency. "Return to _Executor's_ hangar bay."

The Interceptors veered away from him and made for orbit.

"Good hunting, my Lord," Piett said.

Vader switched off his comm. unit.

As his fighter howled towards the surface, the continents began to come into focus as forests and rivers and mountains. And a familiar, long sought after presence came into focus as well.

_I am coming, my son._

**V.**

As massive Star Destroyers faced off, and waves of fighters were deployed and recalled, a small _Firespray_-class patrol ship slipped out of hyperspace. Between Boba Fett's expert piloting and _Slave I's_ unparalleled stealth gear, he entered Veraant's atmosphere completely unnoticed.

_**To be continued…**_


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER 18**

**I.**

As soon as Luke launched the torpedo, he banked hard to port and prayed that he could weather the storm of laser fire the TIEs on his tail would unleash.

No shots came.

No one was behind him.

"Artoo, where did all the eyeballs go?" Luke checked his tactical display and saw that the remnants of the two squadrons were burning hard for space.

I TRIED TO TELL YOU came across the screen.

An explosion rocked the area—his torpedo had detonated in a roiling fireball. He gave a salute.

"Clear skies to you."

Artoo hooted insistently. CHECK YOUR TACTICAL.

Luke looked again and saw that the fighter tagged "unknown enemy 1" had emerged from the blast unharmed. The new TIE was coming about toward them, but in a long, slow loop.

Luke shook his head. "Man, that guy can fly."

"I'll bag him this time, Lead," Hobbie said.

"Negative—he's not moving to engage us and we don't have time. Regroup with the squadron."

"Aye, sir."

"Lead—Three."

"Go ahead, Wedge."

"The TIEs are heading out."

"I see it, but I doubt it's good news."

"You think they're gonna light up the planet?"

"Could be."

"Lead—Six," Tycho said. "I'm dialed into a broad scan and I show a different squadron incoming—twelve tagged as unknown, on tagged as an X-1 Advanced. They launched from the SSD."

Luke felt a cold hand clench around his stomach.

"Luke, we haven't seen an X-1 since the trench run," Wedge said.

"But this is good, right?" Janson asked. "Even the Imps wouldn't launch a squadron into atmo just to vape the planet two minutes later."

Luke pushed the X-1 out of his thoughts. "Either way, nothing has changed. This can only end two ways: We get those meds or we die trying. The whole thing is on us."

"Copy that," Janson said quietly.

"Now, let's—

_I am coming, my son._

Vader's voice resonated in his mind like an iron cage slamming down around him. His heart skipped a beat and then made up for it by pounding thunderously in his chest. His mouth went bone dry.

"Luke?" Wedge asked.

"It's Vader," Luke said hoarsely.

"The X-1?"

"Yeah," Luke managed. "Wedge, take command of the mission."

"But, Luke—

"Get the cure back to the fleet anyway you can."

"Sir, you're not going after that whole squadron alone?" Hobbie asked.

"No, you'll have to handle the squadron. Vader will come after me."

"Sir, take a wingman. We can—

"Negative. You have your orders. May the force be with you."

Luke turned off his comm unit and eased the stick to starboard. His X-Wing banked in an arc to the right, away from the rest of the squadron.

Artoo moaned from behind him. Luke didn't have to read the translation.

"It's the only way, Artoo. I can't have him shooting down my guys one by one. This at least gives them some glimmer of a chance. Besides, in a dogfight, maybe I can actually take him down.

Ben Kenobi's voice echoed from the past.

_He was the best star pilot in the galaxy. And a cunning warrior._

That was his father Ben had been speaking about. Anakin Skywalker. Could he really be the same man—the same _being_—as the reviled Dark Lord of the Sith?

"We'll see," Luke muttered.

Artoo beeped emphatically. JUST DON'T LET HIM BLAST MY HEAD OFF AGAIN.

Luke nodded. "You've got a deal, buddy."

His proximity alarm sounded.

A TIE Interceptor had come right up on his tail.

**II.**

When Skywalker's X-Wing flew by overhead, Mara fired her thrusters on full and blasted up through the tree canopy to engage him from behind. Her heads-up crosshairs quickly went to green and then locked red.

She smiled tightly and jammed both thumbs against the fire controls. The first bolts drilled into his shields, and then Skywalker threw the X-Wing into a fluid yet dizzying combination of maneuvers to avoid her fire. She stayed with him, but her shots were passing by all around him, with only the occasional laser bolt striking home.

_The boy can fly—no doubts there. Just have to stay with him and keep landing_ _shots._

The two fighters tore across the planetscape, their wakes yanking at the evergreen tree tops as they blew past. The X-Wing would fly straight at a taller tree and then weave at the last moment, trying to make the TIE pilot plow into its peak. Mara's constant firing was chewing up everything in her path, tree tops included, so the ploy was not yielding any results.

Her HUD stayed green as the X-Wing bobbed in and out of the crosshairs, but only went red for a split second at a time. She fired as often as she could without draining her power cells, and watched as each minor hit diminished his shield strength.

As she prepared herself for what, by dog fighting standards, was going to be a long match, she reached out to touch the mind of the pilot she was hunting.

_He's determined. He's straightforward. He believes absolutely in his cause—and in his own purpose. But at the same time, he carries crushing uncertainty and fear. He blocks them out, but they're always nearby. The wall in his mind is fracturing under the weight of—_

Green laser bolts blasted through her portside wing, blowing out two of the inset panels. She immediately hauled back the control wheel, climbing upwards even as the fighter began to shake itself apart. The wheel shook violently as her fighter thrashed and heaved. She used her elevated vantage point to look for a clearing to set down in. Her attacker's fighter raced by beneath her in pursuit of Skywalker.

It was the X-1.

It was Vader.

**III.**

Vader's fighter burst through the cloud cover a few thousand meters above Veraant's surface. Below him, just above the tree tops, a TIE Interceptor chased an X-Wing through a plethora of maneuvers. The TIE's cannons fired continuously.

_I can sense my son, but who is this lone pilot pursuing him with such vigor?_

He reached out with the force, and his initial contact was deflected, it seemed, out of reflex. Undeterred, the dark lord immediately pursued other avenues, and was able to get through without further complication.

_It is the Emperor's Hand. The one called Jade._

She was his master's favorite agent. The most reliable. The most capable.

_My son warrants more than a mere assassin, then. The Emperor is taking him seriously. _

And if this was to be a contest for the highest apprenticeship in the galaxy, she would be a serious contender as well.

_But I am not here to play his game. And it is time to narrow the field._

Vader consciously worked to mask his aura, shielding his presence in the force. He would still appear on sensors, of course, but these two were engaged in the type of combat that was purely instinctual.

Vader swooped down upon them like a bird of prey. He kept his targeting system offline, and descended upon the Interceptor. Its shape grew as he closed the gap. He eased his thumbs down on the fire controls.

His shots pierced Jade's left wing, blowing two panels clear out of the frame. She instantly went vertical, and he swooped in beneath her to avoid collision.

And there he was. Just as it was almost five years ago in the Death Star trench, he was right on the tail of his son's X-Wing.

Luke's astro droid rotated its domed head and seemed to stare directly at him. He felt a small flash of shame that he immediately thrust aside.

_I will not damage you today, my old friend._

Luke flipped his X-Wing over and then shot upwards into a steep climb. He barrel rolled to starboard and flew off towards a mountain range. Vader gripped his control wheel and pursued in kind.

_Jade is out of this fight. It's just us, now._

_As it should be._

**IV.**

Wedge Antilles and Rogue Squadron raced across Veraant's surface towards the BioWorks laboratory.

"Okay, Rogues, we stick to the plan, but I'm taking Luke's part. Hobbie, you'll command the air group."

"Roger that."

"Lead—Six."

"What do you see, Tycho?"

"The last Imp squadron is doubling back to the SSD."

Wedge felt his stomach sink. If the Super Star Destroyer was recalling its fighters, it was preparing to lay waste to the entire planet. Imperials did not recognize the term 'overkill,' as Alderaan had taught them.

"Then it's over," Janson said.

"Hold on," Tycho said. "The X-1 is still descending. It's headed for Luke's position."  
"If that's Vader, there's no way they'll bombard us with—

"None of it matters," Wedge cut in. "We all know the mission. If it starts raining lasers, we keep fighting to the last man."

There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed the reality of what had to be done.

"The facility is three klicks out," Wedge said. "Everybody get ready,"

A moment later, the six X-Wings coasted past the forest's edge into a broad, grassy clearing. At its center sat a large network of buildings, all built from a mixture of white ferrocrete and row upon row of gleaming transparisteel windows.

"Janson, Sivrak, we'll set down in front of the south entrance," Wedge said. The three pilots maneuvered over to that wing of the complex and extended their landing gears. They slowly floated down to the surface.

"Wedge, get out of there!" Hobbie cried.

From the edge of the forest, an AT-ST scout walker strutted out from cover. It turned its head towards Wedge's position and opened fire with its grenade launcher. The cylinder positioned on its left-ear turret spun rapidly on its axis, showering the stationary X-Wings with a storm of explosive rounds.

"Evasive! Climb, climb, climb!" Wedge shouted.

The explosive rounds detonated sporadically all around his shields. He was battered about under the onslaught and was tossed around like a ragdoll in the cockpit. His helmet struck both sides of the canopy, making him see stars.

To his left, Lak Sivrak's X-Wing took a shot directly in the portside turbine manifold. The fighter launched into an uncontrolled spin as one pair of engines fired on full while the other pair was knocked out completely.

Wedge yanked back his control stick and stomped on the thruster pedal. As his fighter's nose was wrenched upward to begin its climb, a grenade penetrated his shields and struck his lower portside s-foil, blowing off the cannon and a good portion of the wing itself. He was soaring towards the clouds before anymore shells could get through.

"Lead, I have another scout walker at the eastern edge of the forest," Tarrin said.

"Does anybody see Sivrak?" Wedge asked.

"He ejected somewhere over the forest due north," Tycho said. "Negative contact so far."

"Lead, we've got another one at the north-west corner," Hobbie said. "They're dishing it out pretty good—we're taking heavy fire from all three."

Wedge came about from his climb and got a high altitude bird's eye view of the battle. The walkers were unloading their grenade launchers and blaster cannons with extreme diligence, filling the air around the labs with flak.

"All right, Rogues—we need to get into that building ASAP, and those chicken-walkers are making themselves a fracking nuisance. You're authorized to use torpedoes to remove them, _but don't waste them_. We still have to run the Imp's blockade."

"You're one hell of an optimist, Wedge, but copy that," Janson said. He dove back down from his own evasive climb and came straight in at the east walker. He got a solid tone from his astro droid and pulled the launch trigger, unleashing one torpedo. It struck the two-legged walker squarely in the head. The impact lifted it off of the ground even before the warhead detonated. The explosion that followed a split second later blew it back through the air and into the body of a large evergreen at the forest's edge. The tree's shaft exploded as the walker burst through it. The tree tipped over into the clearing, its dense pine branches bouncing off of the grassy surface. The flaming wreckage of the walker was littered all around its stump.

The two remaining walkers both scurried for the protective cover of the forest.

Janson smiled wolfishly. "Didn't think we'd be packing torpedoes, did you? Gotta love that Imperial propaganda—these nerfs thought we came here with two slingshots and a rusty bayonet."

Tycho flew in at one of the fleeing walkers and fired. The torpedo curved downward and exploded against the top of the scout's armored foot. The blast tore the foot off completely and blew the walker's body up off the ground. Its legs and head flipped over each other again and again in a flaming pinwheel that flew through the air and then struck the ground, where it collapsed into smoldering pieces.

"Two down," Tycho said.

"Tarrin, Hobbie," Wedge called, "use cannon fire to herd the last one to the south. I'm inbound."

"Copy, Lead."

The two X-Wings made a flanking run along the tree line, firing on rapid cycle into the tree trunks and exploding them in showers of wood chips and bark. As towering evergreens fell in the last walker's path, it was forced to trot back towards the center of the clearing.

Wedge swooped in straight at its face and fired a pair of quad bursts. The first quartet of laser bolts blew the armored eye-hatch off of its hinges. The second quartet passed straight though the open hatch. The walker veered left sharply and continued staggering onward.

"I don't think anyone's home, Wedge," Hobbie said.

The walker strutted into a tree shaft and bounced off, falling sideways to the ground. Its legs kicked up huge clouds of dirt as it pushed itself in a circle. The crew within had almost certainly been vaporized by Wedge's cannon fire.

"That's a little something called conservation, my friends," Wedge said. "The walker's down, and I have all six torps in reserve."

"We bask in your greatness, Captain," Janson said.

"As well you should."

"It looks all clear, Lead," Tycho said.

"I doubt very much it will last. Okay, boys, we still need to get inside—and now that we know there are ground units in the area, I want to do it with even less exposure that the old plan called for."

"_Old_ plan?" Hobbie asked.

"I've got an idea."

--

Saralen Sax, receptionist for BioWorks Pharmaceutical Labs Incorporated, cowered behind her large reception desk. The last explosions were several minutes past, and she now felt ready to cautiously peek out over the top of her desk. She rose slowly and looked out through the lobby's entrance. It was wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling glass with a set of matching doors in the middle.

All was quiet. Maybe the terrorists had been driven off.

_Is it over?_

There was a low, deep hum coming from outside that was slowly getting louder.

From the top of the lobby's glass wall, an X-Wing fighter lowered into view, its nose facing the doors.

Saralen dropped to the floor again.

Wedge tapped his thruster pedal lightly and the nose of his fighter shattered the glass. He coasted gently into the enormous lobby, s-foils still open and ready for battle. He came to a stop and hovered in place. The canopy lifted open and he stood up, blaster pistol in hand and pointed straight upward at the ready.

"Excuse me, miss," he called out over his engines. "My name is Wedge Antilles, and I don't have an appointment."

**V.**

Boba Fett guided _Slave I_ down through Veraant's cloud-filled sky. His tactical computer showed a group of X-Wings headed west across the planet's main continent. He set an intercept course and programmed his comm. system to decrypt and monitor their communications channel.

"_But Luke—_

"_Get the cure back to the fleet any way you can."_

Fett unconsciously slid forward in his seat. _Skywalker_. He was here, just as Isard said he would be.

"_Sir, take a wingman. We can—_

"_Negative. You have your orders. May the force be with you."_

And with that, one X-Wing broke off and headed north.

Boba Fett was not an expressive man, but on this occasion, he could not help but smile behind his helmet.

He changed his course to match Skywalker's.

_**To be continued…**_


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER 19**

**I.**

Luke turned his X-Wing on its side, dropping it into a deep granite canyon. At its base, an icy river churned between the rough stone walls. He blasted onward through the chasm at breakneck speed.

Artoo whistled a warning—Vader was still on their tail. He had matched every maneuver Luke had made through the mountains and the forests to get to this point. He had consistently kept a modest distance and had yet to fire weapons or even go for a target lock.

_What the hell does he want from me?_

Luke let out a ragged sigh. He knew what Vader wanted.

_He wants me to join him—to rule the galaxy by his side._

_He wants me to call him father._

Luke clenched his jaw. His father had been born on Tatooine, and had earned his piloting chops in its rocky wastes, just as he had. A canyon run would be second nature to Anakin Skywalker.

Luke jerked the control stick twice, waggling his wings in the universal pilot signal for a challenge.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING came across his screen.

"I want to know who this bastard thinks he is."

Behind him, the TIE X-1 waggled it's opposite wing.

Vader had picked up the gauntlet.

"Grab hold of something, little buddy."

Luke nailed the throttle and was thrown back into his flight seat as his X-Wing surged forward. He was still positioned sideways, and pulled back on the stick to whip around a bend, hugging the grey rock walls as tight as he dared. He immediately came about in a sharp reverse axis turn as the canyon twisted in the opposite direction.

Vader's fighter roared after him, matching every move.

CAN'T WE TALK ABOUT THIS? Artoo asked.

"The longer I keep him occupied, the better chance Rogue Squadron has of getting out of here."

WE WERE ALREADY DOING THAT. SAFELY.

Luke wrenched the stick over to starboard, flipping the X-Wing away from and outcropping he had nearly plowed into.

"Artoo, I can't read the blasted translator screen and fly this canyon at the same time. Is he still right on us?"

Artoo beeped an affirmative.

"I'll shake him loose."

Luke tugged the stick slightly, momentarily shifting his nose—and his cannons—to the left. He fired a single bolt, blowing large chunks of stone from the canyon wall. He hauled the stick back over the other way, rolling away from the flying rocks and dropping beneath them. His fighter's belly skipped off of the white water cresting below and he tipped the X-Wing back on its side just in time to pass through a section where the canyon narrowed. He blew out of the far end of the bottle neck and leveled out, the echo of his engines reverberating behind him.

Artoo was screaming his head off.

"He still with us?" Luke called.

Two pairs of emerald laser bolts passed over him and struck the rock face ahead and to the right. The explosion rumbled through the canyon and stones flew in every direction.

"Sithspawn!"

Luke threw the fighter into a steep climb and tried to bring it up over the falling rocks. Pebbles sparked against his shields, and one larger stone impacted loudly, making him flinch.

Luke took hold and steadied the ship. He risked turning himself sideways in his seat and looked behind him.

Vader was right there, only a few ship-lengths away. Were he not clad in all black, Luke might actually have been able to see him sitting in the cockpit. The deep howl of the TIE fighter echoed through the canyon, drowning out the smooth, high-pitched purr of the X-Wing.

Luke turned back around and saw the canyon wall curving sharply dead ahead. He jammed his boot against the rudder pedal and hauled the stick over. The g-forces pinned him to his seat as the fighter made the almost ninety-degree turn. A light mist in the air speckled his canopy as he whipped around the bend at blinding speed. He emerged in a massive stone cul-de-sac. At its center was a towering, thunderous waterfall.

And he was rocketing straight at it.

Luke yanked the stick back into his chest, but his momentum was too great,

He hit the waterfall like a meteor.

**II.**

Vader's TIE X-1 tore around the canyon's turn just in time to see Luke's X-Wing pull up to avoid the waterfall. He was too late, and the X-Wing's belly struck the plummeting currents. The downward force of the water coupled with the upward force of Luke's climb threw the fighter up and away, flipping end over end towards the forest surrounding the canyon.

All of this happened in the space of a moment.

And Vader was too late as well.

He hauled back the control wheel to climb past the waterfall, and struck its currents in exactly the same way that Luke had.

And he too was thrown into a tumbling spin that was completely unrecoverable. His fighter arced out of the canyon and crashed through the tree canopy beyond.

**III.**

Wedge slid another case of Triladasine across the lobby floor. It crunched against the broken glass littered throughout and came to a stop at Tarrin's feet. Tarrin grabbed both ends and ran it over to his X-Wing's open cargo hatch.

"Keep moving," Wedge said. "We're almost done."

Wedge was not prepared to risk civilian lives, so he had ordered the lab workers to bring all the meds to the lobby and then get out of sight. He was passing the cases along to his pilots in turn, each one of them landing his fighter to make a pickup while the others flew a defensive perimeter. Tarrin was the third pilot to take delivery. Wedge estimated that this load would put them well over what was needed to inoculate the entire Alliance.

"Lead," Hobbie's voice called from Wedge's wrist comlink. "You have a pack of speeder bikes inbound. We're moving to intercept."

Wedge heard the growing whine of several speeder bikes just before the blaster bolts filled the air between the lobby and Tarrin's X-Wing.

The other pilot pulled out his sidearm and snapped off two shots before a bolt caught his hip, spinning him in place and dropping him to the ground.

"Frack me," Wedge said.

Before he could react further, a half-dozen biker scouts roared past. An X-Wing sliced down through the air in pursuit, firing on rapid cycle. Two of the bikes took direct hits, the massive cannon bolts reducing them to scrap and ash. The rest of the bolts chewed up the earth around the remaining four, throwing large chunks of dirt into the air. The surviving bikes scattered, making dashes for the cover of the forest.

Wedge ran over to Tarrin and rolled him onto his back. The right side of his orange flight suit was blackened. A hole with burnt flesh glistened at the center. Wedge brought his left wrist to his mouth.

"Tarrin's down. Keep the Imps off us while I check him out."

"Copy that," Hobbie said.

Wedge turned his attention back to Tarrin. He was a bit older than the other guys in the squadron. He sported a dark mustache, and where there was usually a smile, his limps were clamped together tightly and trembling against the pain.

"How you holding up, Chief?"

Tarrin swallowed. "I could probably get into orbit and make the jump. Beyond that, I don't know."

Wedge brought up his comlink again. "He's gonna make it, but he's in pretty rough shape. Janson, let's get you down here to switch ships with him. I need a pilot that's one-hundred percent carrying the meds." He looked back at Tarrin. "Sorry, pal."

The other pilot nodded. "It's the right move."

A red blaster bolt sizzled past the top of Wedge's helmet. He dropped to the ground and ducked underneath the fuselage of Tarrin's X-Wing. He immediately reached back and dragged Tarrin under as well, eliciting a groan as he was bumped along against the ground.

"Hobbie, we've got snipers in the forest due west."

There was a pause before he got a response. "Copy, Lead. But we've also got two separate groups of biker scouts trying to get at your position. It's getting pretty hairy."

A pair of rifle shots glanced off the side of the X-Wing.

"All right—Janson, scratch that order to land."

"Roger, boss."

"Hobbie, give me some covering fire into those woods. Lay it on as thick as you can. Give me a signal when you open up—I'm gonna get Tarrin into his cockpit. Then we're all burning for orbit."

"Okay, Lead—hold on—I'm inbound now. In three, two, one—go!"

Hobbie's X-Wing swooped in towards the western edge of the forest. He fired on rapid cycle, putting bolt after bolt down through the tree tops. The sniper fire let up, and then ceased altogether. The window would likely last only a few seconds.

"Okay, here we go." Wedge grabbed Tarrin by the back of his flight suit and put his other hand other his knee. He wrestled him up to where Tarrin could reach the rim of the open cockpit. With agonizing exertion, Tarrin managed to pull himself into the flight seat.

"Just stay with us," Wedge called up to him. "We'll screen you as best we can."

Tarrin didn't answer, but he hit the switch to seal up the canopy. His face had gone completely white.

As the X-Wing fired its lift thrusters, Wedge ducked low and made a dash for the lobby. One sniper shot missed by a wide margin and then he was inside. He crunched across the broken glass and came up alongside his X-Wing.

He grabbed the rim of the lower starboard turbine and pulled himself up onto the wing. He hopped over to the fuselage, prompting a squeal from his R5 astro droid.

"We're going, we're going," Wedge assured him. He dropped into the cockpit and hit the seal-up switch.

"Okay, Rogues—make your farewells quick and painful. We're out of here."

"What about Luke and Sivrak?" Tycho asked.

"They're survivors, and we have to keep moving."

"But, Wedge—

"We all know the deal. These meds have to make it home no matter what."

"Copy."

Wedge fired reverse thrusters and coasted back out of the lobby, taking out what small shards of glass had survived his entry. He pulled the stick all the way back, pointing his fighter's nose at the sky. He opened up the throttle, blasting the grass black and launching for orbit.

"Of course," Wedge said, "that doesn't mean we aren't coming back for our guys as soon as we drop off the cure."

Janson snorted. "Again with the optimism. We still have a minor obstacle waiting for us in orbit, you know."

"Lead—Tycho."

"Go ahead."

"The SSD just jumped away. Looks like it took all its eyeballs, too."

"Nice," Wedge said. "That's a hell of a break in our favor."

"Yeah," Hobbie said, "now its just three Impstars against five X-Wings, not including the two-hundred-plus TIEs."

"Tycho, do we have any eyeballs incoming?"

"Negative, Lead. They're maintaining blockade positions."

"Okay, then—just move loose and fast at the command ship and stick to the plan," Wedge said. "They'll never know what hit them."

Wedge only got silence in response.

"Come on, guys—we're gonna do this, right? Who's with me?"

"I am, skipper," Janson said firmly.

"Thanks, Wes."

Wedge heard another snort through his comlink.

"Fracking optimist."

**IV.**

Boba Fett watched as two lights—one representing Skywalker's X-Wing, the other the TIE Fighter pursuing him—winked off of his tactical screen in rapid succession.

_What the hell?_

He maneuvered _Slave I_ around a snow-capped mountain range and emerged on the far side. Veraant's forests extended to the horizon beyond. A single canyon cut through the sea of evergreen, with a cloud of mist hanging over the waterfall at the far end.

There was no sign of either fighter.

Fett programmed a terrain scan and found not two, but _three_ starfighter crash sites within a twenty kilometer radius.

_That Interceptor also survived?_

Skywalker had been pursued by a TIE Interceptor at first, but the second TIE had shot it down. The Interceptor had apparently made a miraculous landing, and now both of the other fighters were intact on the surface as well.

It was rare enough for a fighter with shields to survive a crash landing, but for a TIE-series fighter to survive—let alone two of them—it was unheard of. And it stank right to hell.

_This is all wrong. I'll have to tread softly until I know what I'm dealing with._

Fett picked a clearing a healthy distance from the downed fighters and made preparations to land.

**V.**

Mara Jade popped the hatch on her wrecked TIE Interceptor. The ball shaped cockpit was laying on its side with one wing having completely snapped off. A gouged trail of dirt cut a swath through the grassy field to where she had skidded to a halt.

Mara threw a black duffle bag out of the hatchway ahead of her, and then deftly pulled herself through. She held onto the rim of the hatchway and somersaulted gently outward so that she landed boots to the ground. She released the seals on her black flight helmet and pulled it off. Her red-gold hair was matted to her forehead with sweat.

She unzipped the pilot life-support suit and stepped out of it, leaving it in a heap on the grass. She wore a dark green formfitting jumpsuit underneath.

Mara knelt down to the bag and opened it. She found a utility belt with a holstered blaster pistol and a lightsaber clipped onto it. She pulled it around her waist and buckled it. She then opened a pouch and took out the communicator within. She thumbed it on.

"Agent One to _Avenger_."

"Argus here," the captain replied. He sounded hoarse.

"What's your status, Captain?"

"_Executor_ was ordered away—they just made the jump to lightspeed with all fighters, save one."

"I know—Vader."

"Piett took just enough time to send over a text communication ordering us to hold the blockade and prevent the rebels from escaping."

"What's the status of Rogue Squadron?" Mara asked.

Argus coughed. "In all the damned confusion Vader caused, the rebel fighters made it to BioWorks practically unchallenged. The ground unit in place there engaged them, but they were meant to be a precautionary backup, not the whole damned defensive."

"So the rebels got the medicine."

"They're making for orbit right now, so we have to assume so."

"Destroy every one of those fighters, Captain. There's no margin for error now."

"It will be done. And Madam Operative, there's more—Lord Vader's fighter went down while pursuing a single rebel. Could it be that—

"It was Skywalker he was chasing—Vader shot me off his tail. I was monitoring their course from my cockpit when both ships dropped off sensors."

"Do you think they could have survived?"

"They survived. I'm positive." _I can feel them both_.

"Shall I deploy some of our assets to make contact?"

_Like a squadron of bombers to blow them straight to hell? Tempting, Captain._

"Negative. I'll handle it myself."

"Can we provide _any_ support, Madam?"

Mara pulled a long barreled sniper rifle out of the duffle bag. She pulled the lens caps off the scope and squinted through it.

"I have everything I need for the job."

Argus struggled to maintain his voice against the damage of Vader's force-strangulation minutes earlier. "Please give Lord Vader my—" he stopped and coughed violently. "—my warmest regards when you see him."

Mara pulled a dark cloth mask over her head, hiding her face and hair. Only her eyes remained exposed.

"They'll be the warmest he'll ever know."

_**To be continued…**_


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER 20**

**I.**

Rogue Squadron's five remaining X-Wings tore through Veraant's atmosphere and into the blackness of space. They flew in a loose star-cross formation, with fighters at the north, south, east, and west positions. Tarrin Datch flew at the center of the formation, shielded by the others to port and starboard, bow and stern. Given the severity of his blaster burns, it would be a miracle if Tarrin could stay conscious, much less engage the enemy.

And the enemy was present in force. There were three Imperial Star Destroyers, all Mark II. Each carried seventy-two fighters, and sensors indicated nearly _all_ of them were deployed in a defensive net around the planet. That net was already closing in around them. The TIEs swarmed in at them like a flock of starving vultures.

"Forget the TIEs," Wedge ordered. "Fly loose and maintain a torpedo lock on the command ship. Fire lasers continuously at anything and everything in your path."

"Too many Imps out there to miss," Janson proclaimed.

"If anyone gets through the blockade, jump immediately," Wedge said. "It's been an honor serving with you guys."

The emerald darts of energy came in silently, first a few at a time, and then in a firestorm the likes of which none of them had ever seen. Wedge's fighter shook as he caught a piece of a bolt.

"This is it—stay loose—aim for the—

An X-Wing exploded to his left.

"Hobbie!" Janson screamed.

"—aim for the ImpStar's bridge!" Wedge continued, his eyes beginning to tear up and a waive of nausea rising in his gut. TIEs roared in from all directions, and Wedge fired his cannons on rapid cycle, filling the space ahead of him with as much scarlet energy as he could. The eyeballs took hits, some exploding, others maneuvering away to avoid further damage.

"Did anyone see him eject?" Tycho asked.

"I don't know," Janson managed.

Through the storm of fighters and blaster fire, Wedge could see the lead ImpStar growing closer. The heads-up-display crosshairs lit green against the massive shape of the cruiser's bridge section, but they were still too far out for a lock.

"Focus, Rogues. Keep your lock on that big bastard and fly wild as hell in the meantime."

Wedge rocked the stick around like a madman, keeping his course wildly erratic. Janson and Tycho did the same, all the while keeping Tarrin at the center of their now triangular formation. Tarrin was flying in an almost straight line, and the TIEs were rushing in behind him like flies to the feast. Two eyeball pilots desperate to make the kill actually collided. They exploded in a ball of flame and shrapnel that caused the rest of the swarm to veer off.

"Tarrin, you have to loosen up, buddy," Wedge called out. "Tarrin?"

A quartet of TIE bombers swooped straight in at the Rogue formation. Janson triggered a burst that struck one of the dupes dead-on and blew the double-hulled fighter in half. The bombs within the weapons section exploded in a spectacular blue fireball that consumed two other members of the group.

"Oh, no—I think he's passed out," Tycho said.

_We need to get those meds through_. "Tarrin, respond!" Wedge yelled.

"I…" came a low response. "I don't think I can make it."

"Stay with us, buddy, we're almost there."

Wedge's ship shuddered under more hits. His shield strength was plummeting under the rain of laser fire.

The HUD went red. His R5 unit belted out a solid tone.

"Fire all torps—you, too, Tarrin. Now! Now! Now!"

Flaming blue projectiles shrieked out from all four of them. They soared in at the destroyer's bridge section like a glowing hail storm.

--

"Captain," _Avenger's_ executive officer called. "We have incoming proton torpedoes!"

Captain Argus looked up from where he was reading stats over the tactical officer's shoulder. He frowned at the X.O.'s alarmed tone. "How many?"

"_Nineteen, sir."_

Argus' eyes went wide. "Auxiliary power to shields!"

It was too late.

The torpedoes impacted in rapid sequence, each one hitting with as much force as an asteroid.

Argus was thrown from his feet and clear into the operations pit. His head struck a computer console, and his last thought—something concerning how the hell a few snub-fighters had done this to him—was never fully realized.

--

Wedge watched as the torpedoes exploded all across the bridge section's hull. Lights flickered within the section and went out. Overloads blew up sensor arrays and turbo-laser emplacements. One of the huge, orb-like shield towers exploded.

As the hull grew ever closer, Wedge could see where the actual bridge command view port was.

And he had kept one torpedo in reserve.

He pulled the trigger, and let fly a single ball of death. It arced in at the view port and shattered it.

The torpedo exploded a split-second later, inside the bridge.

There were secondary explosions throughout the ship, and the massive battleship began to veer off course.

"We've got our hole, boys!" Wedge shouted. "She's dead in space. Fly straight past and make the jump."

Janson whooped in joy. "Roger that you optimistic son of a—

A pair of TIEs roared through the center of their formation, firing on full as they went. Tarrin's X-Wing was shredded under the assault. It disintegrated into a cloud of scrap and flame.

"No!" Tycho screamed.

"Damn it!" Wedge shouted. "Jump now!"

He pulled back the lever, and the star lines leapt forward from all around him.

**II.**

Luke's X-Wing was lodged in the branches of a large tree about ten meters above Veraant's surface. The fuselage was upside down, and Luke was looking down through the canopy at the ground below. The transparisteel hatch was resting up against a thick branch and he could not get it to open more than a few centimeters. He kicked at the inside of his cockpit canopy again and again, until he heard a small voice in the back of his mind.

_Luminous beings are we._

Luke stopped what he was doing. He shook his head in disgust.

_I have to get my mind in gear if I'm going to have any chance at all. I can't let myself think in everyday terms. _

Luke calmly extended a hand and closed his eyes. A moment later, the branch snapped crisply and the hatch fell open. He dropped silently from the cockpit, eyes still closed in concentration. He felt the wind rushing against his face and flight suit as he plummeted downward, his body parallel to the tree's main shaft and less than a meter away from it. As the earth neared, he tucked forward and let the soles of his boots drag along the tree bark, slowing him. The inertia of his upper body brought his head forward and sent his feet flipping over his head. He completed the somersault and landed feet first in a crouch on the forest floor.

Luke stood and looked back up at his X-Wing. "Artoo?" he called.

There was no answer. He squinted, and could see a tree branch had impaled the droid through his photoreceptor. All of his running lights were out.

Luke sighed. It had become an unfortunate tradition that, after a desperate operation, Artoo would be forced to spend some quality time in the droid repair bay. That was assuming, of course, that Luke could somehow survive this mission and be able to come back for him. Even a Corellian would have to frown at those odds.

Luke took in his surroundings. It was late afternoon on Veraant, and the dense tree canopy allowed only a few small beams of sunlight to penetrate the dark forest interior. The ground was hilly, and covered in pine needles and scattered patches of snow. There was the occasional song of those few birds that had returned this close to winter's end, and the ever-present rushing sound of the towering waterfall a few klicks away.

He looked down at his flight suit, and the light steam of his breath rolled gently past his face. The bright orange fabric stuck out like a glowing beacon, but he had only a t-shirt and leggings underneath, and temperatures would likely drop to below freezing after the sun went down. He would love better camouflage, but not at the cost of freezing to death.

But more than that, more than anything, he would love to have had a lightsaber. He reached up over his shoulder and let his hand graze the pommel of his _Katana_ sword. It was secure in its scabbard against his back, attached to a strap that crossed his chest. He then dropped his hand to his holster, which contained his DL-44 blaster pistol. Neither were likely to be much help against Vader, but he could make things interesting for any Imperial trooper that crossed his path.

Luke reached out with the force to get a sense of who or what was nearby. He did not need to search for Vader—his presence was like a long shadow cast across the world. Luke felt it pressing down on him, making him cold and fearful. And angry. It was the dark side, radiating from Vader like gravity from a moon. He felt simultaneously repulsed by it and drawn to it. He would have to skirt the shadow's edge, and make certain to stay in the light.

Luke searched beyond Vader's aura and detected two other people nearby. Both were human. Both were hostile. One hunted with a sense of intense determination and a prideful need to avoid failure at all costs. There was something else there as well—a fear of disappointing someone.

The other hunter was determined as well, but smoldering beneath professional training was an almost frenzied desperation. As if ensnaring his prey held the key to a last chance at happiness.

There could be no doubt that Luke was the prey both hunters sought with such vigor. And Vader's determination in that regard was beyond question.

That meant it was three hunters on his trail—but not three against one. Each warrior knew there were others competing for the prize, and each was driven to be the victor when the dust settled. That could be useful when the time came.

As they closed in from all sides, he would have to be mindful of his training. He had to open himself—be completely attuned to the force. And be ready whenever it presented an opportunity.

**III.**

Darth Vader stepped away from the crumpled mass that was once his TIE X-1 Advanced. The solar panels had each sheared off and the cockpit and drive section had crushed like an egg against the wide stump of a Veraant evergreen.

Unfortunately, the starfighter wasn't the only thing that had been damaged in the crash.

Vader's left arm hung at an odd angle from his armored shoulder. The black leather sleeve was ripped and exposed wiring protruded from within. The Dark Lord looked over the damage dispassionately. An angry spark leapt out of a frayed wire. The ember struck the cold wet floor of the forest and faded into a tendril of smoke. He could not move the arm at all.

_This will not do._

Vader unhooked his lightsaber from the left side of his belt and ignited it with a snap-hiss that sent two nearby birds screaming for the sky. With quick precision, he neatly sliced through his arm at the break and let it drop to the ground with a low thud.

He closed down the saber and returned it to his belt. He started walking, without giving a conscious thought as to the direction.

He wondered what Luke would make of him when their paths crossed—a one-armed demon emerging from the wilderness.

Perhaps it would make him kindred to Luke. Two warriors with bionic limbs, each the result of a father-figure exerting his will with a lightsaber. Two boys, each of whom took on a master that commanded them to conform or die. Each fought the master and lived, but paid a heavy price in flesh. And more.

They were alike. They stood on opposite sides of a ideological line in the sand that meant absolutely nothing. The galaxy was made up of people who had power and people who wanted to take it from them. Imperial or Rebel, Man or Jedi… they were all insignificant creatures looking to build on the naïve trust and carelessness of their fellows—to advance themselves one grain of sand further across the desert of the universe. There was only one exception to that pattern that he had seen in his lifetime, and even it was true only as often as not.

Family. _Blood_.

Luke Skywalker was his son. The only unbreakable, undeniable connection he had left in this life. Their bond was the only alliance worth making, and the only empire worth defending. They had been separated by the lies of both Jedi and Sith. By the poison dropped into their ears by their masters.

He had asked Padme to build a world with him. To make things the way they should be. But there was one fatal flaw to their partnership.

They were not of the same blood.

And, as he could see clearly in hindsight, she had predictably betrayed him.

If he could reach Luke—if he could make a connection—they could build something so profound and so simple in its greatness that no force in creation could stand against them.

He looked down at the lightsaber clenched in his remaining fist.

He had to make him listen this time.

Whatever it took.

**IV.**

Mara Jade moved through the woods at a brisk pace. She carried her sniper rifle at waist height and her lightsaber bounced against her left hip with each stride.

She could sense Skywalker nearby—no more than a few kilometers away. And she could sense Vader, too, like a storm on the horizon. But there was one more player—someone familiar somehow, and not in a pleasant way. He was after her mark, and not for the first time…

It came to her. Eriadu. She had been tailing the rebel agent called Targeter. Someone else had been, too.

_Boba Fett._

_Damn it to hell._

If he was here, then Isard had given him the lead, and that meant he was working the I.I.S. top-threat list.

It meant he was here for Skywalker.

On the bright side, it made it that much more unlikely that Skywalker would live through the night, but therein also was the problem.

She had to be the one to take him out.

_But why? Why does it matter who pulls the trigger? Why didn't I just let Argus use TIE Bombers to incinerate Skywalker _and_ Vader?_

Her ultimate duty was to defend and serve the Emperor and his empire. Vanquishing these two rogue knights would not only rid her master of the greatest threat to his sovereignty, but it would also diminish the rebellion's strength and eliminate Vader's cancerous impact on the Imperial military.

And with Vader gone, she could ascend to his position as supreme commander and root out the nepotism, sexism, and corruption that kept incompetent officers at the helm and drove their best people away. With the full resources of the Empire behind her, she would reform the military into a precision instrument and wipe out the rebels within a year.

So why hadn't she green-lit the air strike?

It was painfully simple. Because as much as she hated soldiers who put their personal ambitions above the good of the empire, she was, at this very moment, doing the same thing. She needed to be the one to kill Skywalker. She needed to go before the Emperor and proclaim she had been the one to carry out his will.

Because she needed his recognition. His acknowledgement.

His love.

She had been taken from her family at a very young age to be raised in his court. She had been given teachers and governesses and comrades in arms.

But she did not have any parental figure to nurture her, or take pride in her.

The Emperor was the closest thing she had to a father.

She needed to see pride in is eyes, and to hear it in his voice.

Every action she took or would ever take was in selfless service to the Empire. She led a life of secrecy and solitude, her accomplishments never to be acknowledged by the people she protected.

The smart move—the way to guarantee success—was to send in the bombers and then send a simple message to the palace that her mission was accomplished.

But she wanted to present their heads to her master, and to revel in his response. She had earned that much.

And she'd be damned if anyone was going to take that chance away from her.

**V.**

Boba Fett stood in _Slave I's_ main hold, staring at the deck. He stared at the spot where, six months ago, he had cleaned up Ubesian blood. Syrella's blood.

_I'm going to handle this. I'm going find out what happened to you. I'm going to kill everyone responsible._

He tapped a control on his belt and the ship's airlock hatch slid open. He walked down the gangway and into the dark interior of Veraant's forest.

His assault rifle was slung over his shoulder, leaning snugly against his jetpack. He had a pistol riding each hip. He had an anti-personnel missile loaded into his pack's launch tube. His arm-guards and shin-guards were studded with instruments of poison, steel, and flame.

He was loaded for gundark.

In his hands, he held a Merr Sonn LFD-9 long-range bio-scanner. Two long antennae projected from the unit, and Fett made slow, deliberate sweeps from side to side. He had filtered out insect, avian, and small mammalian life-forms from the search parameters. It was only scanning for humanoids.

First hit: human female. Eighteen to Twenty-four years of age.

Second hit: human male. Same age range. Bionic right hand.

_Skywalker._

Third hit… the unit was struggling with. Heart beat was consistent with a middle-aged human man, but the overall reading kept flickering between human male and quadruped droid.

_That has to be Vader. Frack. He was fanatical about taking Skywalker alive at Bespin. This complicates things._

_And who is this human female? Leia Organa possibly? No, there were two TIEs and one X-Wing. The woman is Imperial._

_There aren't many women in the service at any level. It certainly isn't Isard._

_The red-head. The girl at Eriadu with the lightsaber. _

Fett smiled inside his helmet. _Three Jedi to contend with. My Dad would've loved this._

He remembered the girl's crack about his father's death at the hands of the Jedi. His smile faded. He had to steer clear of Vader if at all possible, but if he crossed her path, he'd speckle the forest with her and hang her saber from his belt.

But she was a bonus. He had to focus on Skywalker. Skywalker would buy him Lando Calrissian.

And Calrissian would give him Syrella Boushh. Wherever she might be.

_**To be continued…**_


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER 21**

**I.**

Wedge, Janson, and Tycho dropped out of lightspeed at _Yavin Victory's_ last location. It was gone.

Wedge surveyed the twisted pieces of metal spinning lazily through the darkness. A quick scan confirmed his suspicions. "All the wreckage floating around is from vaped TIEs," he said. "They must have jumped to the next rendezvous point."

"But their hyperdrive was down," Tycho said.

"The ships making the feint attack for our last op must have come back. They rigged something together for _Y.V._ and everyone jumped away."

"Or the Imps boarded them and moved the ship to one of their bases," Janson said.

"I don't think so."

"Do you have the jump algorithm?" Tycho asked.

"Yeah," Wedge said. "I'm feeding you guys coordinates."

--

Twenty minutes later, the trio of X-Wings emerged from hyperspace amidst a motley fleet of freighters and transports. At its center was a dreadnaught cruiser pitted with blast craters.

"Thank the force," Wedge said. He hit his comm. unit transmission switch.

"Rogue Three to fleet commander. We have the cure. Please transmit landing instructions."

--

Wedge stood in front of Colonel Salm on _Yavin Victory's_ flight deck. Like everyone else moving about the deck, they wore oxygen filtration masks to avoid contracting the virus. A team of crewman were unloading the crates of the antidote Triladasine from the cargo sections of Wedge's and Tycho's X-Wings. The crates constituted only two-thirds of the original haul.

"It's going to be tight," Salm said.

"Best we could manage."

Salm clapped a hand on Wedge's shoulder. "What you and these guys managed is nothing short of a damned miracle." His gaze dropped to the deck. "I'm sorry about Skywalker and the others."

"Luke is alive, Colonel. Some of the others may be, too. The three of us plan to refuel and go back for them."

Salm sighed tiredly. He let his hand drop from Wedge's shoulder. "Come on, Antilles—let's not do this."

"Sir?"

"You left a few men behind to save the Alliance. It was the right call, but as the group commander, you have to find a way to live with it. We've all lost friends in this war. And those men are gone."

Wedge's teeth clenched and fought the urge to snap. He made a conscious effort to keep his fists at his sides.

"Luke Skywalker is without a doubt the most important military asset the Alliance has—

Salm snorted and shook his head.

—and whether you agree with that statement or not, the chance to get him back is easily worth the three of us."

"This conversation is over, Captain. Report to the deck officer for assignment."

"Colonel, I—

"That's an order, Antilles!"

The general bustling around the flight deck ceased, and all eyes turned towards Salm and Wedge. Janson and Tycho stopped unloading their fighters and stepped up behind their captain.

There was a questioning growl from a far corner of the bay. Wedge glanced over and was surprised to see Chewbacca standing under the _Millennium Falcon_. His welding mask was pushed back and he looked intently at the unfolding scene.

And now Wedge knew what his next move had to be.

He looked Salm straight in the eyes. He reached up to his left shoulder and ripped off his rank insignia.

"Then I resign my commission."

Janson and Tycho each tore off their patches as well.

Salm was red-faced with rage. "You can't do this—it's fracking mutiny, and I'll have each of you—

"_Chewie!"_ Wedge shouted, turning away from Salm mid-sentence.

The Wookiee howled back from across the bay.

"Luke's in trouble—we have to go get him, now!

Chewie tossed off the welding mask and dropped his tools to the deck with a clang. He gestured with his huge shaggy arm for them to come to the _Falcon_. The three pilots sprinted across the deck, Salm shouting threats after them the whole way.

Chewie was already in the cockpit when the remaining Rogues tromped up the gangway. Wedge dropped heavily into the pilot's seat and Janson and Tycho took the two passenger seats.

"Vader set a trap for him," Wedge said breathlessly. "They've got him boxed in."

Chewie growled emphatically and gestured at the controls.

"Uh, I'm sorry big guy, but I don't speak Wook—

Chewie threw up his arms in frustration and stormed out of the cockpit. Each of the men looked at each other questioningly.

"Nice going, Wedge," Janson said, shaking his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about a little sensitivity. Do you have to be so blunt with the guy? It's like you're berating him for your own monolingual limitations."

Tycho put his face in his hands. "Would you please shut up?" he muttered.

Wedge whirled around in his seat.

"And what the hell languages do you speak, you nerf-shaver?"

"Well, I don't think we're discussing me at the—

"_Put me down at once, you great hirsute barbarian!"_

They all turned towards the cockpit door.

"Now that was truly uncalled for," Janson said.

Chewie came up the _Falcon's_ corridor with a golden protocol droid thrown over his shoulder. He roughly set the droid on its feet and gestured at a corner where he wanted it to stay.

"Language problem solved," Tycho said.

Chewie sat down and growled again, making the same gestures at the control panel.

"Chewbacca would like you to co-pilot, Captain Antilles," Threepio said. He made brushing gestures across his metallic chest, as if to smooth out some invisible shirt.

Wedge smiled. "Any Corellian would be honored to do it." He turned to Janson and Tycho. "When we get there, you guys are on quad guns."

They both nodded.

"Okay, then." Wedge turned to Chewie.

"Punch it."

A moment later, the _Millennium Falcon_ roared out of _Yavin Victory's_ hangar bay and looped around to orient herself on a heading for Veraant. With a blast of white light from her thrusters, she launched into hyperspace.

**II.**

Crouched behind the wide rotted stump of a fallen evergreen, Boba Fett patiently awaited his prey. His bio-scanner had picked up a young human male in the area. He kept himself perfectly still, and listened through his helmet's enhanced audio pickups as a pair of footfalls grew steadily nearer.

Skywalker may have been considered something of an upstart warrior—a boy who had gotten lucky in the arena of professionals, but Fett knew he had to play this one conservatively. The Jedi—even those in training—had to be handled with special care. His father had taught him that as a young boy, and ultimately, all of Jango Fett's experience in battling Jedi Knights still could not save him from death beneath one of their lightsabers.

A twig snapped. The sound was painfully sharp in the confines of his helmet, and Fett switched off the enhanced audio. His own acute hearing could now detect the sound of boots scraping the earth.

_Twenty meters._

He brought up his left arm. Three rocket darts were locked and loaded. He took measured, controlled breaths.

_Ten meters._

_This is for you, my love._

He surged to his feet and framed the orange-clad rebel in his sights. The boy's eyes went wide.

Fett fired.

**III.**

As the sun dipped below the treetops of Veraant's forest, Darth Vader moved quickly, weaving through trees and brush like a raven. He could sense the hunter's thoughts—the thrill of lining up the target, the pre-visualization of missiles tearing through the quarry's flesh, and the cold ecstasy of pulling the trigger.

He heard an explosion rumble through the forest.

He ran towards his son.

**IV.**

Luke dodged left as the three rockets ripped past. The flaming tail of the closest missile left a black scorch mark across his flight suit as it narrowly missed.

All three rockets struck a tree standing close behind him. The explosion rocked the forest, showering Luke with chunks of wood and bark. The sheer force of the blast propelled him face-first into the ground. There was a resounding crack from the tree as the great evergreen split a meter above the trunk. It fell to the earth, bouncing once on its dense pine branches before rolling to a stop against another tree. Luke lay prone on the ground, facedown and surrounded by burning pieces of wood.

Boba Fett emerged from behind cover and cautiously approached Luke's unmoving form. He kept his assault rifle trained on the rebel. The smart move would be to put a few bolts through him and confirm the identity later. But something stayed his hand.

Fett tucked a boot under Luke's torso to roll him onto his back.

Luke moved with blinding speed, swinging his arm and connecting with Fett's lower calves, sweeping his legs out from under him. Fett fired two shots that went skyward and then landed on his back.

Luke was on his feet instantly, and yanked his pistol clear of its holster. He fired straight down at Fett, but only hit dirt as the bounty hunter rolled away. Fett lashed out with a vicious kick that sent Luke's DL-44 spinning into the darkening forest. Luke darted away as Fett unloaded a flurry of shots from his rifle. He took cover behind a tree and called out with the force. His blaster soared through the air and dropped neatly into his right hand. He turned and reached around the trunk with his gun-hand only to blindly lay down some suppressing fire before he made his next move.

A great tendril of flame engulfed his hand. Luke screamed and the red-hot pistol fell to the ground. He brought his hand to his chest. The synthetic skin was charred and peeled back, revealing the servos within. The artificial nerves discontinued the pain signals automatically after three seconds, and Luke gasped in relief. He took another quick glance at the hand. The actual mechanisms appeared undamaged—he could still use it, even if it looked unseemly.

A grenade landed near his feet. He quickly flung it away with the force, and it exploded a safe distance away.

Fett was now closing in. Another burst of flame encompassed the tree's shaft, blackening an entire side of Luke's flame-retardant flight suit. As the extreme heat began to singe his face, Luke was forced out from his cover, and whirled out from behind the burning tree, drawing his _katana_ vibroblade as he charged the bounty hunter.

On instinct, Fett raised his rifle to block Luke's attack, but the boy's powerful, overhead swing bisected the weapon and continued straight on into Fett's shoulder guard, which the blade glanced off of.

Fett cursed and dropped the two halves of his former rifle. With a sharp snapping sound, an array of curved steel blades popped out of the sides of Fett's forearm guards. Luke came in at him again with his sword, and Fett parried each swing with his arms, causing sparks to fly with each contact. Metal-on-metal chimed through the forest as the two warriors faced off.

Luke finally provided Fett with an opening when he drew back his sword to make a more powerful thrust. Fett punched him squarely in the face, knocking him down on his back. Fett stood over him, wrist-blaster pointed at his face.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"What?" Luke managed.

"_You little frack, you know who I'm—_

Luke swung the _katana_, taking Fett's right foot off at the ankle. The bounty hunter shrieked and fired into the piece of earth Luke had already vacated, before he himself collapsed to the ground. Fett hopped up onto his remaining foot.

Skywalker was nowhere to be seen.

He was seeing spots, and for all he knew he may have blacked out for a moment. He fired his jetpack and soared off the ground, a thick trail of blood raining down from his stump. He cleared the treetops and was gone.

Luke stepped out from the brush he had hid behind and looked up at where Fett had just blasted into the sky. He tried to begin to digest what had just happened.

"Luke," a voice rumbled.

Luke spun around.

Vader stood not five meters away. His cloak billowed in the light breeze and he held his unlit lightsaber in his right hand. His rising and falling shoulders, coupled with the more rapid pace of his thunderous breathing, suggested he had run quite a distance. Luke didn't even register that his left arm was missing entirely.

Luke backpedaled away from him. Vader walked towards him, keeping the distance between them consistent.

"Luke, the Emperor has sent assassins from every corner of the galaxy. We must fight them off, together."

Luke drew back his sword to the ready position. He continued backing away.

Vader moved more quickly now to close the gap. He clipped his saber back onto his belt and extended his hand.

"You are my son, let me help you—

Luke stopped and swung his blade, slashing through the control box on the dark lord's chest and slicing the surface of the skin beneath. Vader grunted in pain and spun away from Luke with a flash of his black cape. He came back around from the turn with his saber ignited.

But Luke had already sprinted into the woods with Jedi speed. Vader caught a glimpse of his small silhouette on the horizon, and then he was gone.

Wounded, and dejected, he closed down his lightsaber. He simply stood there, staring into the distance.

A cold rage welled up from deep inside him.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER 22**

**I.**

General Carlist Rieekan opened his eyes with extreme effort. Every part of his body ached and felt as though he'd been sleeping for a month. When the room came into focus, he realized he was in _Yavin Victory's_ sickbay.

Then it all came back to him. The Imperial attack. The bio-weapon.

The plague.

"Sir," he heard a voice say from what sounded like a great distance. "The General has regained consciousness."

Colonel Salm stepped into view. "Thank the stars," he said.

"Report," Rieekan said hoarsely.

"The Imperials flooded the ship with the Suuron virus."

"That much I know—we figured out what happened right after the first crewmen started showing symptoms. When we started dropping en masse, we didn't count on waking up again. What's changed?"

"It was Rogue Squadron, sir. They beat us back from the Mordus VI operation and found the ship dying. Skywalker lead the squadron on a suicide mission to a planet where the Imps had stockpiled the antidote. Only three ships made it back, but they had several crates of the cure. We've dosed the command officers, and we're making our way to all the others."

"Who died?"

"About twenty crewmen at last count. Luckily the drug seems to work quickly, so we hope to stave off any more casualties."

"No," Rieekan said. He swallowed to moisten his throat and started again. "Who died from Rogue Squadron?"

Salm clenched his jaw. "Antilles, Janson and Celchu were the only ones to make it back. They claimed Skywalker was still alive back on the planet, and insisted on going on _another_ suicide mission to get him. I refused and ordered them to duty." Salm's face reddened.

"They disobeyed."

"Yes, sir. They resigned their commissions and abandoned their posts. They left with Chewbacca onboard the _Falcon_."

Rieekan closed his eyes. "So you're telling me that Luke Skywalker is alone on a planet being hunted by Imperials, and one ship, with four men aboard, is on its way to single-handedly try to rescue him?"

"Yes, sir. I agree it's absurd, but I didn't see any way to stop them short of shooting them, and I think that's the last thing morale around here can take right now."

Rieekan sighed tiredly and turned his head to the right. In the next bed over, Princess Leia Organa lay unconscious. Her brow was furrowed and she slept fitfully, but she was no longer in restraints.

"You're right. Morale couldn't withstand much more than what we've already endured." He looked back at his officer. "Please bring me a comm. unit, Colonel. I have an urgent message to send."

**II.**

A small burst of sparks fell from the ceiling of the _Millennium Falcon's_ cockpit. Chewbacca maneuvered the freighter down and to the left and a pair of TIEs overshot them. A flurry of shots from the dorsal quad gun shattered one of them—the other went vertical and disappeared into the clouds.

"Good shot, Janson," Wedge said from his seat in the cockpit.

Janson's voice came back over the speaker. "Just have to do that a hundred more times and we're all set."

They had dropped out of lightspeed a few minutes ago and run the Imperial blockade around Veraant, which was still two Impstar Deuces strong, with a phalanx of fighters for support. Hoards of eyeballs had followed them into the atmosphere, and Janson and Tycho had been firing their quad guns almost continuously. The sheer volume of fighters made it difficult for them to miss, but the _Falcon_ was taking heavy punishment from the onslaught.

Wedge studied the readouts to the left of his seat. "Chewie, the alluvial dampers are cutting in and out—that could really hurt us now that we're in the atmosphere."

Chewie gestured to the controls and growled out a question. Threepio leaned forward from the passenger seat he was strapped into.

"Chewbacca wants to know if you have experience flying Corellian freighters."

Wedge turned to Chewie. "Yeah, before I joined up, I flew almost nothing but Corellian freighters—I even flew the _Pulsar Skate_ a few times."

Chewie voiced his approval. He stood up and ducked out of the cockpit.

"He says you may pilot the—

"I got it, I got it," Wedge said. Suddenly, his mouth was dry as the Jundland wastes, and his arms and hands tingled with nervous exhilaration.

This was the _Millennium Falcon_. The most famous Corellian ship of this age. And he was going to take her into battle against overwhelming, impossible odds, and ignore those odds in the best Corellian tradition.

It was the chance of a lifetime.

He spoke into his headset. "Okay, guys—Chewie had to go aft to make some repairs, so I'm flying solo up here."

"Copy that," Tycho said.

"Treat her like a lady," Janson chimed in.

He gripped the controls with his gloved hands, and took a quick glance back at Threepio. Something in his eyes seemed to make the droid cringe, and he smiled tightly at him.

"Grab hold of something."

**III.**

Night had fallen, and each breath from Luke's mouth produced a cloud of steam in the cold, black air. The full moon shone down through the evergreen canopy, and his black flight boots contrasted starkly against the bright carpet of pine needles he walked across. He could no longer hear his own footfalls or the pounding in his chest. All sound, it seemed, was absorbed by the soft, steady roar of the waterfall which was now only a few hundred meters away.

But he could feel darkness closing in. And now a sound did penetrate the din of the falls.

The unmistakable, iron echo of the Dark Lord's breaths.

Luke brought up his katana and turned to face the sound of Vader's approach. He continued to move slowly backward, taking careful steps, and looking from side to side. He opened himself to the force, and tried not to shutter against the waves of anger and despair that washed over him.

There was the quick, sharp hum of a lightsaber swing, and the base of a tree exploded in the distance. With a high pitched groan, a tall tree tipped over, and fell towards the ground.

The ground where Luke stood.

He tucked and rolled away, and the broad, pine covered limbs slapped against the ground. He came out of his somersault with his blade at the ready, just in time for a second tree to throw itself down upon his position. He leapt up, flipping backwards and landing unsteadily on his feet just beyond where the tree's peak struck the earth.

And with a flash of crimson light, Vader was upon him.

The Dark Lord vaulted over the fallen tree shaft, his black cape spreading out to eclipse the moonlight behind him. He swung his saber in an overhead arc down toward Luke.

Luke reflexively raised his steel sword to block, and the lightsaber sliced neatly through it, and nearly took his head off in the process. He stumbled backwards and threw the hilt with its truncated blade at Vader. The Sith Lord swatted it aside without effort and continued his strides towards Luke, who was backpedaling as fast as he could. Vader, meanwhile, was a juggernaut. His black mask, while never changing, seemed to emote both frenzied anger and pure determination.

Luke's foot caught a tree root and he fell onto his back. He continued his frantic retreat from Vader, his elbows and heels driving him along the ground. Vader continued to follow, his saber ignited, but pointed away from the young Jedi.

"There is no time for this, Luke. There is an armada in orbit and expert killers on the ground—all brought here to destroy you. I am your only—

He suddenly whirled around and brought up his saber as a rain of blaster fire was hurled down upon them from above.

**IV.**

Mara Jade lined up the Dark Lord in her infrared sniper scope. He was moving inexorably towards Skywalker, who was doing everything in his power to keep out of Vader's reach. From her position perched on a branch ten meters above the ground, she had an excellent vantage point, but there were countless trees between her and them, and she couldn't get a clear shot. But Vader was herding Skywalker towards a small clearing, and when they reached it, she would have the opportunity to take them both in one blow.

Skywalker, now on his back, scrambled into the clearing. Vader immediately followed, undoubtedly ranting his propaganda and treason.

The crosshairs framed the back of his helmet, but Mara wanted to go for the primary target first. She shifted slightly to the left, putting Luke's terrified face in the center of her scope. She smiled as her finger tightened on the trigger.

And in that moment, Vader's head snapped around to look directly at her, his deathly gaze drilling into her through the red-tinged lens of her rifle scope.

_Damn it._

She worked the trigger as fast as she could, firing shot after shot down at Skywalker. Vader swung his saber in all directions, creating an almost hypnotic effect as the light moved rapidly through the dark air. Blaster bolts ricocheted into the night as he repelled every one of her shots. A bolt sizzled past Mara's ear, and it became immediately evident that he was doing more than repelling—each ricochet was coming closer to her position. He had her zeroed.

She shoved the rifle away from her torso, letting it fall to the ground below. She would have to fight this battle on his terms. It made her success less likely, but if she achieved it, along with the death of Skywalker, there could be no sweeter victory in this life.

She jumped off of her branch and hit the ground in a crouch. She rose to a combat stance and unhooked her lightsaber. A magenta blade leapt into existence.

Vader took two steps away from Skywalker and raised his own saber in a defensive posture.

Mara drew back her blade, and charged.

_**To be continued…**_


	23. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER 23**

**I.**

The _Millennium Falcon_ blasted past the treetops on Veraant's surface. Mammals scurried down the trunks and avians screamed away towards calmer skies.

Dozens of TIE Fighters roared after them, filling the air with a storm of green cannon fire. Trees were shredded and blown from their roots. Dark clouds of earth erupted out of blast craters. The chase cut a fiery swath through the dense forest.

Wedge rolled the freighter onto her side, presenting the pursuers with a slimmer target profile, and also allowing Janson and Tycho to fire at the TIEs simultaneously. Each turret unleashed a staccato of red blaster fire, and more shots than not struck hull. But for every fighter that exploded, three more tore through the flames and rained hell upon them.

"Talk to me, Wedge—what do the shields look like?" Janson called into his headset. He jammed down the triggers on his quad gun and fired four ruby darts into the transparisteel cockpit of a nearby eyeball. Unmanned, it veered sharply to port and clipped the wing of another fighter. That fighter was thrown into a tumbling spin and both ships exploded beneath the tree line.

"Little busy," Wedge replied tersely.

"Just tell me the number has two digits."

"I've never lied to you, Wes."

"Oh, frack me."

"Can't help you there, either."

"Can we focus a bit here?" Tycho said.

In the cockpit, Wedge clutched the controls as if he were riding a wild gundark. He pulled back the levers and the ship began to climb. Predictably, several TIEs dropped in beneath him to score hits on the freighter's underbelly. Wedge threw the levers forward and dropped the _Falcon _back towards the treetops. The fighters tried to dive away, and plowed into the evergreens. The explosions tossed flaming tree branches and clouds of pine needles into the air.

"Sithspawn!" Tycho cried out. He was in the belly turret, and his rare invocation of that curse showed that Wedge had indeed scared the crap out of him.

"Sorry, pal," Wedge said. "How many did we get?"

"Four."

"Nice. After you guys vape a bunch more we'll try that again."

"Like hell," Tycho replied. "You have to give me a few seconds to climb out of here first next time."

The ship shuddered under the onslaught of blaster fire. The lights dimmed. They all heard Chewie roar in frustration below decks.

"We're on auxiliary power, guys," Wedge announced.

"We'll be finished within moments," Threepio moaned.

"Yeah, probably," Wedge said. Out of his canopy, he saw a flight of TIEs come screaming around a mountainside a few klicks up. Without waiting for a lock, he fired a pair of arakyd missiles at them. A pair of smoke trails streaked across the sky and exploded against the mountain. A meteor shower worth of granite blew into the eyeballs' path. Three of the ships were decimated, but the the fourth continued on, cannons blazing.

"Guys, some help?" Wedge called out. The fighter was going head-to-head and his shots were stripping off hull plates. "Ah, frack!" Wedge rolled the _Falcon_ and banked to starboard. He rammed the TIE with the portside flank and sheared a TIE solar panel clean off. The collision alarm sounded throughout the freighter just before the eyeball spun into the ground.

Chewie burst into the cockpit with murder in his eyes.

"We're okay," Wedge assured him quickly. "Structural integrity is holding, but shields are completely gone. We can't hang in this thing much longer."

**II.**

Mara sprinted at Vader, blade held back and ready to swing. Vader brought his own saber up into a high guard position, no doubt planning to use his superior height and strength to crush down any attack from this masked interloper.

Mara dropped low just as she came into his killing zone and Vader's blade slashed through the air a meter above her head. She snapped a sharp kick into his knee, and he teetered before regaining his footing. Any normal man's knee would have been shattered by the blow, but Vader's bionic joint withstood the impact. His near-fall, however, revealed a crucial detail to Mara that she couldn't believe she had missed until now.

_His whole left arm is gone!_

Vader whirled around and swung low. The tip of his blade caught a tree shaft and scattered flaming wood chips through the night air. The blade continued unfettered and Mara had to leap away to avoid having both legs cut out from under her. She back-flipped and landed on her feet a few meters away, but Vader had surged forward and was unleashing a furious series of saber attacks.

Mara struggled to parry them, and knew if Vader had both of his arms, she'd have been dead already. As it was, the Dark Lord was keeping his left flank away from her, and was wielding his lightsaber with such speed and agility that the individual maneuvers could scarcely be made out. A dizzying pattern of crimson light played out between the two warriors.

_The key is to hit him from the left. I have to make an opening._

Mara deflected a sideways slash from Vader's blade and allowed the momentum to knock her to the ground. She also allowed her saber to drop from her grip, and its magenta blade closed down automatically.

Vader, seeing a window to strike, raised his saber high to make the kill.

Mara somersaulted forward and put both hands flat against the ground. Her incredible abdominal strength drove her torso upright, and she planted a vicious kick under Vader's mask, catching both his mouthpiece and his throat with her boot. The power of the blow lifted him off his feet and he let out a strangled grunt. He hit the ground on his right side, momentarily pinning his only arm beneath his body. He had already shut down his saber to avoid impaling himself. And, for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, his exposed left flank was completely undefended.

Mara, already back on her feet, called her saber to her hand, and had used the force to ignite its blade while it was still in the air. She brought it to shoulder-level with the blade facing down, and felt a rush of exhilaration as she plunged it down at the fallen Sith Lord.

**III.**

Luke had intended to run as soon as this new duel began, but something had kept him firmly in place. He lay on the ground, propped up on his elbows, and watched as the personification of everything he had fought—everything he feared—placed himself between a predator and the boy he claimed was his son.

The attacking predator was small and lithe. Despite the dark fatigues and full head mask, it was clear to Luke that it was a woman, and certainly not a woman to be trifled with. Her strikes came fast and were well placed. Vader had countered with a blinding array of saber-moves, but Luke never detected panic from the woman.

_She was the calculating mind I sensed earlier. The one with something to prove._

She had dark side training, but carried little of the fear or rage that clouded Vader's perception of the force. And Vader was fighting without an arm.

_She could win._

Vader struck a blow that knocked her to the ground. Her saber fell away from her, but even has Vader lifted his blade to strike her down, she maintained a feeling of control.

Luke surged upright, scarcely registering his own sense of urgency.

_It's a ploy._

She rolled forward and executed an incredible handstand kick that knocked Vader onto his back. Her lightsaber was back in hand and ignited before Luke could blink.

She now raised her own blade for the killing stroke. Vader lay defenseless beneath her.

And Luke, on pure instinct, raised a hand in her direction.

A stone leapt from the earth, and flew straight at her.

**IV.**

Vader watched as the attacker—who he knew without a doubt to be Mara Jade—called her lightsaber to her hand. He had indeed fallen for her ploy, but as she stood over him triumphant, a second away from the kill, he decided not to act. There were any number of moves he could make at this moment—a simple force push could easily buy him the time he needed to get back in the duel—but he wanted to know what Luke would do under these circumstances.

_I am your father. I have defended you, and now I may die because of it. What will you do?_

The stone struck Mara hard in the left shoulder and she let out a cry of pain and surprise. The impact spun her to the ground, but this time she held on to her saber.

Vader was on his feet in an instant. As Mara rose from her elbows and knees and swung her blade up at him, he caught her right wrist in his iron hand. There was a sickening snap of bone and the saber fell from her grip and deactivated. Mara screamed and her knees wobbled unsteadily. Vader looked down at the unlit saber. It leapt from the ground and into the woods. He then dropped her wrist and instantly grabbed her by the throat, lifting her face to meet his mask. She couldn't make a sound, and the Dark Lord's lifeless eyes and metallic exhalations eclipsed her world. Her green eyes, which were the only part of her body not covered, beamed with what could only be called informed terror. She had every expectation of dying, and full knowledge of her failure.

He held her there for a long moment. The hard edges of his mask pressed against her sheathed face.

"Never come near us again," he said.

Vader launched her through the night air into the depths of the forest. She slammed full-on into a large tree many meters away, at which point they could hardly see her shape anymore. There was the horrid thud of her impact, followed by the crisp sound of her body falling into the brush. Then silence.

Vader turned back to Luke, who now stood with a puzzled look on his face. As if his own actions had completely confounded him.

"There is a connection, Luke. It is beyond logic. Beyond allegiance. We are father and son."

"No," Luke said softly. The conviction he had spoken with at Bespin was all but gone.

Vader was about to continue when he sensed danger, and then heard a whine rising from the distance. Luke looked in its direction and his eyes went wide.

"Luke!" Vader warned, taking a step towards him.

And like a missile, a body flew out of the darkness and grabbed Luke around the torso, pulling him from his feet and into the air.

**V.**

Boba Fett ripped through the night air on his jet pack. He held Luke tightly and swerved from side to side. The young Jedi lifted his arms to shield his face as Fett drove them into branches of varying thickness, each of which snapped against his armor or Luke's flesh. The boy struggled against him, but Fett was determined beyond reason.

"_Where is Syrella?"_ he demanded.

"What?" Luke shouted over the howling wind. He had no idea what the bounty hunter was talking about.

Fett looped around and went full-throttle straight at a huge tree trunk. The wind assailed Luke's face and he could now make out the texture of bark on the tree. The impact was a second away and would crush them both.

"Last chance," Fett yelled into Luke's ear.

_**To be continued…**_


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER 24**

**I.**

Wedge Antilles weaved the _Millennium Falcon_ through the canyons and passes of Veraant's snowcapped mountain ranges, trying desperately to avoid every shot the pursuing TIE fighters fired. Deflector shields were gone, and each and every blaster bolt that found them would strike unprotected hull.

Janson staggered into the cockpit. He staggered, because inertial dampers were barely online, and Wedge's wild maneuvers were making personal balance and equilibrium problematic at best. Janson kept a hand on the wall as he made his way to the co-pilot's seat and dropped heavily into it.

"What are you doing, Wes?" Wedge asked, not daring to look away from the canopy.

"Quad cannon." He stopped and seemed to gulp the air. "Overheated." If Wedge could look at him, he'd see he was green. "Can't shoot anymore."

A hit on the rear flank somewhere rocked the ship. Wedge cursed.

"See if you can help Chewie make repairs in the meantime."

Janson trembled. "You feel that draft, boss?"

"I don't know—why?"

Chewie howled from back in the main hold.

"Oh, dear," Threepio said.

"What happened?"

"Chewbacca said the hull has been compromised. There was more, but I am not programmed to repeat vulgarities unless explicitly commanded to—

"Damn it to hell!" Wedge said, punching the arm of his chair. "That's the fracking air _outside_ you're feeling."

"Cold air makes me want to puke less, anyway," Janson said. "A good officer finds optimism in the face of danger. You taught me that, skipper."

"We can't break out of atmo until we patch it."

"You really think we'll live long enough to address that one?"

"Shut up and—

The sensor board starting beeping intensely.

"Three more cruisers just came out of lightspeed," Janson said. "They're launching fighters. Lots of them."

Wedge felt exhaustion crushing down on him. He fought a sudden urge to just close his eyes and welcome their end.

"Impstars?" he forced himself to ask.

"I don't think so—sensors can't get a firm reading. Can you get us up above these mountains?"

It would put them out in the open again, but at this point, it didn't seem to matter. Wedge eased back on the controls and the _Falcon_ began to rise.

The constant firing behind them changed pitch as a second group of blaster bolts was added to the equation. Multiple explosions roared through the canyon behind them.

"What the hell is an A-Wing?" Janson asked, still reading off of the sensor display.

Twelve starfighters of a design Wedge had never seen before screamed past them overhead.

"Knave Leader to _Millennium Falcon_. Let us take some of this work off your hands."

Wedge laughed out loud and slapped Janson's arm excitedly. He hit the comm. send switch.

"You guys are Alliance?"

"Epsilon actual," the pilot coded in. "You bet your ass we are. Go find Commander Skywalker, Captain."

"Can your squadron can handle the rest of these eyeballs?" Wedge asked.

"Won't be a problem. We've got friends."

**II.**

Admiral Ackbar stood on the bridge of the Mon Calamari star cruiser _Home One_. Two more of the MC80 capital ships were in his formation to port and starboard. The trio of huge vessels moved in on the two remaining Imperial Star Destroyers orbiting Veraant.

"Commence firing," he ordered. "B-Wing squadrons—engage Destroyers—target their shield emitters and engine arrays. A-Wing squadrons—destroy all Imperial fighters within the atmosphere and then move onto any ships left in orbit."

A firestorm of turbo laser and ion cannon fire erupted from each of the cruisers. The Impstars' shields withered under the assault, but they returned formidable salvos of their own. The deck plates trembled beneath Ackbar's feet as the shields absorbed the pounding.

"Admiral," a Mon Calamari crewman called. "Signal from Knave Squadron. They have located the _Millenium Falcon_—they've taken heavy damage, but they're alive and flying."

To his left, Mon Mothma looked down and breathed a sigh of relief. "Have they located Commander Skywalker yet, Lieutenant?" she asked.

"Stand by, Madam." He listened to his headset intently for a moment. "Knave Leader says _Millennium Falcon_ is resuming the search while our squadrons provide cover."

Mon Mothma turned to Ackbar. "General Rieekan's message suggested there may be other survivors from Rogue Squadron in the area. When can we dedicate some ships to search and rescue operations?"

Ackbar gestured to the massive battleships exchanging broadsides beyond the viewport. B-Wings swarmed the Destroyers and engaged their TIE sentries.

"As soon as our enemies will be kind enough to retreat. Or die."

**III.**

Boba Fett soared straight at the massive tree, his arms clutching Skywalker tightly. Their deaths were imminent.

"Last chance," he yelled in the Jedi's ear.

Luke looked straight at him and did the last thing Fett expected.

He calmly closed his eyes.

And Fett realized his miscalculation.

_No._

A force—_the_ force—blew them apart as though there was an invisible, silent explosion between them. Luke veered right of the tree and rolled to a controlled stop along the forest floor.

Fett veered left, and slammed into the side of another evergreen.

His jetpack sputtered once and then ceased altogether. He dropped to the ground at a sharp angle. His body struck earth and he lost consciousness instantly. He skidded through the dirt and plowed jet pack-first into a tree stump, bringing all momentum to a violent halt. A second later, his missile fired itself out of the launch tube and exploded into a treetop a hundred meters away. A shower of flaming sticks and branches ricocheted off the surrounding trees.

Luke got to his feet and wiped blood out of his eyes—it was streaming from a laceration on his forehead. The echo of the explosion had faded, and now he only heard the dull roar of the waterfall nearby. The dark forest was dimly lit by the flames above and Luke looked quickly in each direction. He did not see Vader. But he was near—he could feel that as certainly as a kiloton weight on his shoulders.

And then he was there. On the dark horizon, Luke could see a single line of red light rise and fall with each step. The Dark Lord's form took shape, and he walked out of the shadows of the forest, saber held at the ready. He stopped and stood his ground a short distance from Luke. The two warriors simply looked at one another, their next actions suddenly seeming unclear.

It was just the two of them now.

**IV.**

Vader looked at his son. His orange flight suit was torn and blackened. His face was crisscrossed with cuts and scratches. He was alone and unarmed. But he stood his ground, victorious over one of the fiercest killers money could buy.

Beneath his armored chest, a feeling swelled in Vader that he had not known since the old wars.

Pride. His son would indeed be a great knight. Under his tutelage, perhaps the greatest the galaxy had ever seen. What a world they would make.

"It is time, Luke."

His son stared at him for a long moment.

"Time?" Luke asked flatly.

"Our destinies have brought us here, to this point. We each stand apart from our soldiers, our armies. We are beyond them, Luke. We can leave the lies behind and begin again."

Luke shook his head.

"We have saved each other from destruction," Vader said. "We have come together against all odds. How could we have done this if there was not a greater purpose for us?"

"My purpose," Luke said, his voice quavering slightly, "is to defeat the Empire, and the dark side. You are the highest servant of both."

Vader stepped towards him. "I am past all of that, Luke. You must move past it as well. Obi-wan lied to you when he told you I was dead."

Luke took an involuntary step backwards.

"Just as the Emperor lied to me when he told me you were never born," Vader pressed on. "I want—

Luke held up his hand. "Stop. Whoever you are—whatever we are to each other—I will never go with you."

"Luke—

"I'm leaving—now. And I'm warning you not to follow."

"We leave here together, my son. Or not at all."

Vader moved towards Luke.

Luke closed his eyes, and throughout the woods—over the din of the falls—the planet itself seemed to tremble.

A pair of stones leapt up from the ground—one from the left, the other from the right—and flew through the air towards Vader. The Sith Lord easily deflected them with two casual strokes of the lightsaber. The stones popped on contact into small clouds of dust.

"Don't do this, Luke."

Luke raised his arms up from his sides, and six more stones launched themselves at Vader. He whipped the saber from left to right, and the stones cracked loudly in the night air.

Luke walked backwards, his eyes still closed, and the forest itself assaulted the Dark Lord. Vader swung his saber wildly as dozens of rocks pummeled him, some exploding against his blade, while others clanged loudly against his armor, buffeting him from all sides. Tree branches whirled off of the ground and flung themselves at him. Vader would lance one in half just in time for another to snap across his back.

"You will stop this or you will suffer the consequences!" Vader bellowed over the maelstrom. A small stone ripped through the air and struck him right in his eyepiece, shattering it. Vader yelled out in pain, and the barrage momentarily stopped as Luke was stunned to see a bloodshot blue eye staring back at him. Blue like his own.

Vader brought up his blade with a menacing hum and strode in towards him.

"I did not want to damage you, but you are leaving me no alternative."

Luke turned to fall back, and as he took a step, a hard cylinder rolled beneath his boot. Without taking his eyes off of Vader, he lifted his foot and called the object to his hand with the force.

And in a smooth motion that felt as natural as breathing, he thumbed on the lightsaber and swept the magenta blade into a defensive guard.

The cliff overlooking the massive waterfall was only a few meters behind him now, and the steady roar of the currents was almost deafening. A heavy mist rolled through the air and caused a waive of steam to hiss off of the lightsaber blade.

"If you come any closer," Luke shouted, "I'll do everything I can to cut you down. It will end today."

Vader brought his own blade up and moved in slowly.

"So be it, then," Vader said.

_**To be continued… **_


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER 25**

**I.**

Wedge kept the _Falcon_ coasting just above the treetops of Veraant's evergreens. A pair of A-Wing starfighters flew in formation to port and starboard above them to provide cover. The squadrons of agile rebel fighters had caught the larger force of TIEs off guard, and their superior maneuvering within the atmosphere gave them an additional advantage. They had taken out dozens of eyeballs in the first blow.

"I've got something on sensors, boss," Janson reported from the copilot's seat.

"What is it?"

"An explosion, sir."

A pair of TIEs roared past them without so much as a parting blaster shot. The reason for their haste became clear a moment later when a pair of concussions missiles riding white exhaust trails streaked after them. One missile struck the round underbelly of the second TIE's cockpit and blew it apart. The other missile continued through the fireball and then proximity-detonated just to starboard of the dead eyeball's wingman. The blast shredded the TIE's right solar panel and sent it tumbling to the surface. It spun through the green canopy of the treetops and exploded.

"There's plenty of crap blowing up around here, Wes, so be specific."

"This explosion was a thousand klicks south of the air battle—no ships are operating in that region."

Wedge turned to look at him.

"Could be Luke?" he asked.

"Could be."

Wedge flipped a few switches on the control panel and eased the yoke to the left.

"Signal our escorts to follow us due south." He hit the intercom switch. "Chewie, we think we've got a lead on Luke's location. How's the patch job coming?"

A series of hoots and growls came back over the speaker.

"Chewbacca reports that he is making progress, Captain," Threepio translated. "He did add, however, that if he needs to use the welder again on this trip, he is going to use it on—well—you, sir."

Wedge nodded. "Fair enough."

**II.**

Admiral Ackbar watched as gouts of flame erupted from a Star Destroyer's hull for the first time during the battle.

"_Reciprocator_ has lost shields," the tactical officer announced.

"B-Wing groups Alpha through Gamma: make a strafing run at her bridge." Ackbar ordered. "Delta group: target her engines."

Twenty-four B-Wings raced along the Impstar's drive section towards the bridge, chewing up hull plating with constant fire as they went. The Destroyer suddenly banked hard to starboard, forcing their formation to scatter to avoid collision.

"They're running," Ackbar said.

"Yes, sir," tactical responded. "Detecting energy build-up in their engines."

And with a burst of light from their aft drive cluster, _Reciprocator_ was gone. Cheers rose up from the bridge crew. Even Mon Mothma quietly pumped a fist through the air.

"Good work, people, but let's stay focused," Ackbar said. "Have the _Justice_ move in behind the last Destroyer to establish triangular envelopment."

"Sir, the TIEs in the atmosphere are all making a break for orbit."

"Order our A-Wings to follow them. We'll take out as many as we can before they can dock with the Impstar."

"Can we destroy their hyperdrive before they can collect their fighters and retreat?" Mon Mothma asked.

Ackbar shook his head. "If we were getting close to achieving that end, the commander of the Destroyer would simply order the jump and leave the fighters behind. I suspect this battle will play out in the next several minutes."

"Then perhaps we can begin phase two, Admiral?" Mon Mothma said, her eyebrows raised.

"Indeed, Madam." Ackbar turned to his communications officer. "Deploy Search-and-Rescue shuttles. I want complete sweeps of the planet and the surrounding space for survivors."

**III.**

Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader dueled along the cliffs of the river canyon. The humming of their blades and the shrieking clash of their collisions were the only sounds audible over the deafening roar of the towering waterfall.

Vader swung his one arm from side-to-side and up and down, never letting up the pace for an instant. Luke parried these slashes, not easily, but without any close calls. He felt fear trying to rise to the surface and flood his mind. The realization came to him every few seconds that this was _Vader_ he was fighting.

How could he possibly win? How could he do anything except be captured or killed?

But he controlled it. He kept those black currents from washing over him. He willed himself to focus. He would handle this battle one lightsaber stroke at a time.

As Luke did this, the world around them receded into the background, and then into something less—something faded and muted. Each swing from Vader seemed slower, and he blocked them with time to spare—with focus to spare. He used the extra moments to place thrusts of his own. The Dark Lord blocked them, but having only one arm, he could not recover with an attack of his own as quickly. And as Luke settled into a rhythm, his footing became surer, and he found it was _he_ who was setting the pace.

_Balance, young Skywalker_, Yoda had once said. _For every action, a reaction, there must be. For every light you shine, pushed back the darkness is. _

Vader was on the defensive, and with each step Luke took forward, Vader was forced to step back. It was balance—and each gain he made had to be Vader's loss.

He was driving the Sith Lord towards the falls. The iron breathing came fast and erratic. The lightsaber strokes were shorter and more desperate. Luke maintained complete calm and clarity as his blade crashed down upon Vader's like a pendulum, again and again and again.

And in this moment, the whole universe seemed to make perfect sense, like a vast machine that Luke understood from beginning to end. All possibilities were within his grasp.

Luke dropped low and swept a kick behind Vader's calves, knocking his legs out from under him and dropping him onto his back. Vader wrenched his blade upward in a futile attempt to stave off a killing blow. The crimson blade wavered in the air between them as Luke prepared to bring down his own saber one last time.

_I'm going to win._

_I'm going to destroy my father. _

_My _FATHER_._

And that's when the world came crashing down back around him.

**IV.**

Vader lay on the ground, lamely holding his saber blade between himself and his son. Luke held his own blade above his head, and was about to strike him down when he suddenly paused. The utter passiveness in his eyes gave way to intense emotion.

Vader felt a shift in the force. It was like the moment when the temperature drops and the rain begins to fall. Like the bursting of a bubble.

_He's lost his focus. The force has slipped from his grasp._

Vader force-grabbed a stone and launched it at Luke's raised hands. The magenta blade was knocked from his grip and went spinning over the cliff. It disappeared into the white currents of the falls.

Vader surged to his feet and Luke instinctively stepped back. His eyes went wide as his foot failed to find a purchase. He flailed his hand at Vader.

"Luke!" Vader tossed his lit saber aside and reached his remaining hand towards his son.

He was too late.

Luke went over the edge.

_**To be continued…**_


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER 26**

**I.**

Luke held onto a gnarled root protruding from the side of the cliff. His feet swung precariously over the raging river a hundred meters below. His bionic fingers—burnt to the metal bones in his battle with Boba Fett—clutched that root for dear life.

He looked down. The waterfall was thundering down into an angry white cloud at the bottom, its currents blasting off of massive boulders and tumbling into the rapids that flowed through the canyon.

He looked back up.

The black mask looked back at him, and where one eye piece had broken, Vader's naked eye shone with intense desperation. He was crouched on one knee, his gauntleted hand reaching down to Luke.

Luke looked down again. He had survived his fall at Cloud City. And this time he could actually see where the bottom was. But he'd never survive hitting the boulders.

"Luke!" Vader shouted, forcing his attention back upward.

Luke was totally paralyzed by his indecision. He felt doomed to hang from this cliff until destiny made a decision for him.

And just like that, the familiar outline of a freighter glided through the sky above them, the sound of her engines drowned out by the falls. It was providence.

It was the _Millennium Falcon_.

_I've been avoiding this confrontation_, Luke realized. _Not the physical confrontation, but the emotional one. I'm not ready to face the possibility that the pure-hearted knight I created in my childhood isn't real. Or the possibility that Ben and Yoda lied to me. _

He stared into Vader's exposed blue eye.

_I can't face the simple fact that I could end up just like him._

"Take it this time," Vader shouted, thrusting his hand out emphatically.

**II.**

Wedge Antilles looked out of the _Falcon's_ canopy and saw the black shape of Lord Vader crouching along the canyon's edge. Just below him, a swath of orange was visible, hanging from the cliff.

_Luke!_

"Guys, don't fire, I say again, don't fire."

"I see him too, Wedge," Tycho answered. "If we use the quads, we'll kill them both. But that's Vader down there. If we're not going to use the heavy stuff on him, I don't think we have a prayer of taking him out."

"I say we rush him," Janson said. "Blasters blazing right out the door."

Wedge hit the intercom. "Chewie, we see Luke, but Vader's all over him. We can't risk a quad burst. What do you think?"

A roar came back. Wedge threw a glance back at Threepio.

"Chewbacca said to land nearby and he will take care of the rest," Threepio said. "It doesn't sound very carefully planned," the droid added nervously.

"Chewie, we'll back you up," Wedge called. There was no response.

"What's your call, skipper?" Janson asked.

"Grab your guns," he said. "Once Chewie is out the door, we cover him the best we can."

"Roger that."

**III.**

Vader sensed danger nearby. He didn't care.

He continued reaching his hand towards Luke. He closed his left eye, blocking out his helmet's electronic vision of the world. He stared intently at his son with his naked eye, taking in his natural features for the first time. Luke looked back at him from two meters below. The connection between them was undeniable.

_He will take my hand. He will come with me. I know it._

The feeling of danger grew. They didn't have long.

Luke turned away and looked at the river below.

"Luke!" Vader shouted.

His son looked back at him, seeming dazed.

Vader reached down as far as he could, his gloved fingers stretching out in desperation.

"Take it this time," he pleaded.

**IV.**

The moment the _Falcon's_ landing skids touched ground, Chewie slapped the gangway release and stormed down the ramp, bowcaster held at the ready. He leapt off the end of the ramp before it even finished opening and sprinted towards the crouching form of Darth Vader.

**V.**

Vader's instincts cried out so loudly he could no longer ignore them. With great pain, he pulled back his outstretched hand and reached towards his discarded lightsaber. It leapt off of the wet grass and landed in his one remaining hand. He whirled around with a flash of his cloak and ignited the crimson blade, bringing it up into a defensive guard.

In the faint light of the coming dawn, the silhouette of a Wookiee barreled towards him across the field. The cursed _Millennium Falcon_ sat just beyond, a welcoming light spilling from its open gangway.

_You will not take my son from me._

Vader reached his saber back around his left hip, and prepared to send it whirling at the giant interloper.

**VI.**

The force called to Luke like a spike through his consciousness. His indecision was burned away in an instant He propelled himself off of the cliff's edge and leapt straight upwards. He came out of the arc in a flip and planted a sharp kick into the Dark Lord's back.

Vader stumbled forward before his could throw his blade at Chewbacca.

The Wookiee stopped his run and leveled his bowcaster at Vader.

Luke dove to the ground and wrapped his arms around his head protectively.

**VII.**

Chewie lined up Vader in his sights. He roared in his native tongue.

_This is for Han._

He fired his bolt.

Vader reflexively brought up his saber to parry the shot. Had it been a blaster bolt, it would have been deflected back at his attacker with lethal results.

But this was a bowcaster bolt. With an explosive arrowhead.

The bolt exploded brilliantly against Vader's blade, the thunderclap hurling him off the ground. He soared over the edge of the cliff with his cloak in flames, and vanished into the white currents of the plummeting waterfall.

Chewie roared in victory, pumping his bowcaster into the air above his head.

Luke got to his feet slowly, and walked shakily to the edge of the cliff. He looked down to the bottom of the falls.

He saw nothing.

But while the pressing weight of danger had been lifted, he could still sense the dark aura of Vader.

_We'll meet again._

A pair of shaggy arms were thrown around him and he was lifted clear off of the ground.

"Chewie!" Luke said. "Take it easy, I'm all right."

The Wookiee threw him over his shoulder and ran him back to the _Falcon_, ignoring Luke's protests.

Luke could see his pilots waiting at the top of the boarding ramp, with relieved smiles on their faces.

_**To be concluded…**_


	27. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER 27**

**I.**

Lando Calrissian—now known as Tamtel Skreej—lay in his bunk in the guard barracks of Jabba's Palace. He was on the bottom bed, and he stared up at the underside of the mattress above. It sagged sharply under the weight of his Gammorean bunk mate, and he wondered when the metal mesh that supported it would give way, bringing the porcine alien crashing down on top of him.

The snores of his bunkmate blended with a chorus of nocturnal sounds from dozens of others. It had been disconcerting to him when he'd first arrived, and he'd felt like he was in some kind of menagerie. The thought had seemed bigoted, until he realized Tamtel was certainly one of the beasts. But now, months later, the sounds had become white noise he barely noticed.

It was in the relative still of the night that Tamtel receded into the background and the inner voice of Lando Calrissian made himself heard. He often wished he could shut that voice up and stay submerged in the rough carelessness of his adopted persona. Tamtel hadn't come naturally to him—Lando was, after all, renowned for his smoothness. Playing the savage went very much against the grain, but it also provided a haven from the two emotions that defined his true self ever since Cloud City.

Guilt and fear.

The guilt was manageable. For one thing, he deserved it, and that somehow made it okay to live with. And it was a motivator. It fueled his determination to see the job through, despite the constant presence of his fear.

But it was the fear that Lando brought with him to Tamtel's bedside that made his presence so unwelcome. Secret identity notwithstanding, Tamtel stood a pretty decent chance of being murdered in bed on any given night. He had already fended off two attempts in his tenure here. Just being human seemed enough of a reason for some of the thugs to hate him. But if Lando Calrissian was recognized, they would filet him in a joyous frenzy. That thought stalked him every day, following behind him with soft footfalls that could always be heard.

He didn't want to die, but he also didn't fear death for its own sake.

The thought that chilled him was that if he was killed, Han could end up frozen forever. Not quite alive, not quite dead—trapped in eternal nothingness.

Lando checked his communicator's display. It was four in the morning. It was time for another walk. _Maybe this time they forgot._

He touched his feet to the cool stone floor, and made his way into the dark corridor. He made a left at the first junction he came to, and continued onward until he reached a narrow staircase. It spiraled around the rounded outer wall of the palace, descending to subterranean levels. Finally, his feet struck sand, and he could hear the only nocturnal sound in the palace that still gave him pause, even after making this trip a dozen times. It was not the drunken snores of the rancor keepers, who slept on hard benches along the walls.

It was the subsonic rumble that pulsed rhythmically from the monster's keep. The sound of massive exhalations rushing through reptilian nostrils.

_Keep snoozing you big bastard._

He stepped over to a computer terminal that was set against the wall. A cursor blinked invitingly. He hung his head in grateful relief.

Finally, after months of futile trips into the dungeon, he had caught his break. In their stupor, the keepers had forgotten to lock the computer down.

Lando looked at one of the sleeping men. He was clutching an empty bottle that rose and fell on his rotund gut with each breath. Lando tossed off a silent salute. _What you tubs need with a computer I'll never know. _

All of his careful planning and covert observation now came down to a message.

He started typing.

**II.**

Princess Leia Organa opened her eyes in _Yavin Victory's_ sickbay. She felt as though the thin mattress beneath her had been molded to her form. She pushed the sheets from her body, and it was like breaking out of a cocoon. She struggled to pull herself upright, and an orderly trotted over to assist her. She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry it was as if her vocal cords had seized. She was handed a glass of water, and she drank it greedily. The orderly signaled someone from his comm. unit. Leia motioned for another glass of water and it was given.

General Rieekan stepped into the sickbay and smiled warmly.

She lowered the glass from her lips. "How long?" she rasped.

"Five days," he said. "We almost lost you. Your immune system was apparently very susceptible to the Suuron virus. But you've been inoculated and your fever broke last night.

She nodded in understanding. "Our casualties?"

"Twenty two from the virus," he said. "We also lost the _Antares III_ in the Mordus raid. And there were six killed from Rogue Squadron."

Her eyes went wide. "Luke?"

"Come on," Rieekan said, offering his hands to help her up. "Let's go see him."

--

Leia held Rieekan's arm for support in the turbolift. When the doors slid open, the cacophony of a full-on blaster fight assailed her ears. She reflexively clawed at the general.

"It's all right," he assured her. "Come on."

They stepped out onto the wide catwalk that surrounded the main hangar deck from one level up. Her jaw slowly fell as she watched the scene unfolding below.

Luke Skywalker, clad in all black, stood in the center of the docking bay. He gripped a titanium rod in both hands, and swung it back and forth faster than she had ever seen a man move. He deflected the training bolts in every direction, as dozens of crewmen fired from all around him. She looked to her left and right and saw sharpshooters with rifles raining fire down on him, and watched as one of the snipers growled in pain as a sting bolt came back into his shoulder. He dropped his weapon to the deck and sat down to rub the wound.

One by one, each of the attackers would wince from a hit and lay down on the deck to nurse their sore bodies and avoid anymore bolts. Finally, there was one man left standing. Luke yanked the blaster out of his hand with the force. The trooper threw up his hands and surrendered.

Luke remained where he stood. His shoulders heaved with each breath and perspiration matted his hair to his forehead. The fallen crewmen each rose to their feet, some still grimacing from the sting bolts. The pilots of Rogue Squadron struck up applause. The rest of the soldiers—some more reluctantly than others—joined in.

"You just beat fifty men, boss!" Wedge said, slapping him on the back. R2-D2, newly repaired after the crash on Veraant, rolled up to him and hooted excitedly. Luke patted his dome and shook hands with some of the crewmen.

His brow furrowed when he detected a familiar presence. He looked up at the catwalk and made eye contact with Leia. His expression softened, and a smile spread across his face.

She returned it.

**III.**

The members of Rogue Squadron put on standard duty uniforms after hitting the showers. Pilots had their own facilities located off of their ready room, and they were currently the only occupants.

"I've never seen one man get so lucky," Janson said while combing his hair in front of a mirror.

Luke smiled. "In my experience, there's no such thing as luck."

"I'll second that," Hobbie said, sitting hunched over on a changing bench.

"Enough already," Janson sighed. "You were EV for less than a day before the rescue shuttle picked you up. And you didn't lose any more limbs. A banner day for you, my friend."

Hobbie flipped off a rude gesture. Janson shrugged.

"Anybody hear how Sivrak's doing?" Wedge asked.

"Another day in the bacta tank and then he's on bed rest for a few days," Tycho answered. "Which he'll hate."

"You sure you don't want to amend your previous statement, Luke?" Wedge asked. "All things considered, I think the squadron got real lucky on this last one."

"Perhaps," Luke said. He glanced around at the other men. "Could you guys give Wedge and me a few minutes?"

There was a muted chorus of 'yes sirs' and then Tycho, Janson, and Hobbie filed out of the locker room. Wedge looked at Luke questioningly.

"It wasn't luck that brought us all home safe," Luke said. "It was you."

Wedge looked down, embarrassed. "I just did what you would've done if you could have been there."

"Maybe so. We'll never really know for sure. It's impossible to say what any one of us might do when the call is ours."

Wedge nodded in agreement.

"But you made all the right calls back there. You saved the Alliance, and you saved me, against all odds."

He smiled just noticeably. "I'm a Corellian," he said simply.

"And there you have it," Luke said. "A man who can make the right decisions in combat and win against impossible odds is a hell of an asset. Too valuable to be riding second seat—even to a Jedi."

Wedge's head came up. "Are you transferring me? Because with all—

Luke held up a hand to stall him. "You're not going anywhere, Wedge. I am."

"What do you mean?"

"General Rieekan told me I could step down from my day-to-day role with the Alliance when the time was right. And I have to go to Tatooine."

"Han?"

Luke nodded. "After that, I need to finish my training. I have no idea where that will take me, or how long I'll be gone."

Wedge rose to his feet. "It will always be your squadron, Luke. I'll keep the lead seat warm for you. It'll be there when you're ready to come back."

Luke held out a case containing a rank insignia with his left hand. He shook Wedge's hand firmly with his right. "It's _your_ squadron now, Wedge. A hundred percent. And don't worry about what I would do. Trust your own heart and mind."

"Thanks, boss."

"Besides—I'm the one who needs to be rescued all the time."

Wedge chuckled. "Well, I'm proud to be one the people who flew the _Falcon_ to your aid."

Luke clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Commander."

Wedge gestured with the case Luke had handed him. "I don't know how you managed this after the resignation mess."

"Turns out Captain Antilles was deactivated. Putting you in as a Commander was the easiest way to get you back on the duty roster."

Wedge nodded. "Sounds good."

A tentative female voice came from outside the doorway. "Are you gentlemen decent?"

"No, but we are fully dressed," Luke answered.

Leia walked into the room.

"I'll excuse myself," Wedge said. "It's good to see you doing so well, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Wedge."

He bowed and left the room, and Luke and Leia were alone. He opened his arms wide and Leia embraced him. Luke closed his eyes and squeezed her tightly. He buried his face in her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Leia pulled back to look at him, her brow furrowed with concern. "Luke, what do you have to be sorry for?"

"It was my fault. The attack on _Yavin Victory_. The virus. Everything afterwards."

"You can't take responsibility for that. I know you feel pressured by the weight of your powers and potential, but you're only one man. You can't expect to single-handedly protect us from every threat in the galaxy."

"No," Luke said. "It's more than that. I—" he stopped. "I hid."

"Hid from what?" she asked.

"My path. My life."

"I don't understand."

"I hid from the force," he explained. "I couldn't face my destiny. I was afraid of what I would find through meditation. So I avoided it. And the few times a vision came to me in spite of myself, I shut it out."

"That still doesn't make you—"

"I saw you in danger," Luke said, his eyes tearing. "And I _still_ looked away. I could have lost you. We almost lost everything."

Leia looked away for a moment and processed what he had said. She put her hands on her hips and sighed.

"We've been fighting this war for years without a break. We've all had to struggle with our demons along the way. Some of us more so than others."

A tear ran down Luke's cheek. "Yeah," he said softly.

She turned back to him. "_This_ is part of your path. This lesson."

Luke swallowed and looked her in the eyes. "I won't hide again. I'll confront my destiny head on. And I'll always protect the people I love."

"I know."

Luke dropped to the bench and let out a long, tired breath. Leia came and sat down beside him.

"So do you know what to do next?"

He nodded and turned to her.

"I received a message from Lando. It's time."

**IV.**

Mara Jade blinked open her eyes. She was lying on her back and could see daylight shining through the dense treetops of Veraant's evergreen forest. She tried to sit up and winced in pain. She had at least a few broken ribs. Her right wrist throbbed intensely where Vader had snapped it. She held it to her chest, and rolled gingerly to her left side, and used her good hand to push herself upright. She pulled the cloth mask off of her head, and the brisk morning air felt good against her face. She got to her feet and looked around.

She heard the constant rushing of the waterfall nearby, but aside from that, there was little to get her bearings by.

She plucked her comlink from her belt and thumbed it on.

"Agent One to fleet, please respond."

She tried a few times, but got only dead air in response. The Imperial ships had apparently left orbit. She was stranded.

She touched a button on her wrist chronograph and set it to compass mode. She knew she had originally set out due east from her crashed fighter. She oriented herself westward, and hoped to come upon it. If she could access the ship's computer, she might be able to get coordinates for whatever passed for a city on this rock.

She let out a frustrated sigh that caused sharp pains from her ribcage. She made a mental note not to do that again.

She started walking.

--

It was less than a kilometer when she sensed trouble. She reflexively reached for a weapon, but she had none. She slowly raised her hands above her head.

"Turn around slowly," a metallic voice said.

She did so.

Boba Fett pointed wrist blaster at her. He hobbled on one foot, with his other hand held against a tree for support. The stump at his ankle was covered by a military-issue coagulant brace, designed to contain bleeding from massive wounds. He had probably lost a lot of blood already, because his gun hand was wavering, and his balance seemed unsteady at best. His armor was battered to hell, and his jetpack sat crumpled on the ground.

"Vader?" she asked.

There was a pause before he answered. "The other." He sounded almost embarrassed.

_Skywalker, then. He must be better than I gave him credit for._

Mara nodded. "They got me, too."

He continued to point his weapon at her.

She looked down at the ground, knowing the next question could be her last.

"So what now?" she asked.

"I should kill you," he said.

She nodded. "Next time you should. But this time, I have the legs."

"And I have the ship."

Luckily, they seemed to be on the same page. She gave him a small smile. "A lift for a lift?"

He lowered his wrist blaster. "Agreed."

She walked up to him slowly, and slung his left arm over her shoulders. She held onto him with her left hand, and kept her broken right wrist protectively against her torso. They began hobbling towards Fett's ship.

"Any interesting jobs lined up after this one?" she asked tentatively.

Fett slowly turned to look at her. "I don't make fracking small talk."

Mara blew out a relieved breath.

"Thank the stars."

**V.**

Lord Vader's battered body was gently buffeted by the currents of the river. He had been carried past the choppy rapids of the canyon and had emerged at the far end, where the banks were steep grassy hills as opposed to sheer rock walls. The white water had faded into a babbling current. Floating on his back, he reached with his remaining hand to grab at the mossy surface of the bank. He found a purchase, and with great effort, he hauled himself onto land.

His cloak was in burnt tatters and his armor was bent, pitted, and dented all over. His right eye piece was broken, and his naked eye was bloodshot and heavy lidded with exhaustion. The rapids had shaken and pummeled him all through the night, and now, at dawn, he had now finally washed ashore, looking like a soaked raven that had narrowly escaped another predator.

Vader's signature breathing came out as metallic wheezes. Through pure will, he rolled himself onto his front, and began pulling himself up the hill. When he reached the top, he collapsed onto his chest and continued to wheeze, only more rapidly.

"Halt!"

Vader looked up.

An Alliance trooper was pointing a blaster at him. The blood drained from the man's face when he realized who he had stumbled upon.

"Oh my—

Vader made a hand gesture.

The man's gun hand jerked upwards and the barrel jammed into the flesh under his chin. A red blaster bolt shrieked through the top of his head and he dropped like a sack to the ground. The echo of the shot faded, and then there was only the sound of the forest.

Vader just wheezed for another few moments, then rolled onto his back and pulled himself upright. He stood up slowly, and looked around. His gaze finally froze on a point of interest that made his powerful shoulders sag in relief.

A reconnaissance shuttle sat serenely on the ground twenty meters away. Its boarding ramp was open.

--

Vader stood outside the massive doors of the Emperor's throne room on Coruscant. His black armor gleamed even in the muted light of the outer chamber. Externally, he was a new man, with virtually every part of him having been replaced by the droids in the palace medical ward.

Internally, he tried desperately to control the rage of his conflicting emotions.

He had come to the painful realization that he needed the Emperor's help to win over his son.

In his quest to unite with Luke, he had told himself that lightness and darkness did not matter. The philosophies and emotions behind one's actions were irrelevant. All that mattered was the result. And what he wanted to create—what he had always wanted to create—was a life where he was in absolute control of his own destiny, and could absolutely protect the people he loved.

What the Emperor had shown him was that the only way you could achieve that was through absolute power. It had taken him more than two decades to fully learn that lesson. He had understood it entirely when he stood in the silent vacuum of Polis Massa, watching a recording of Padme giving birth to his son. The Emperor had concealed this event from him. He had controlled the flow of knowledge, and in doing so controlled the flow of his apprentice's life from that point forward. He used absolute power to manipulate.

Vader was many things, but a liar was not one of them. That was not how he would rule. But before he could fulfill his ultimate destiny, he needed to avail himself of Palpatine's serpentine persuasiveness one last time.

To turn Luke to the dark side.

Luke was appalled by his father because he had never been set down the path that Palpatine had maneuvered Vader onto those many years ago. Luke would reject him unendingly until he had seen the world through the eyes of the Sith, and had been submersed in its well of hatred and despair. When Luke had pulled himself through that same blackness, they could emerge on the other side together, on whatever higher plain that might be, as an unstoppable force.

As father and son.

And until the end could be achieved, Vader would remain the Emperor's servant, lying in wait. He just had to conceal his innermost thoughts for a little longer.

The purple-cloaked herald stepped out of the shadows.

"His Excellency will see you, my lord."

Vader steeled himself, and strode into the chamber.

**VI.**

Master Yoda had dwelled in the dark side cave for what felt like an eternity, existing amid the horror and sadness and rage that saturated the place. The dark aura of the cave had masked his own powerful presence in the force, allowing him to elude the intensified searches of Darth Vader and the Emperor. From under the shroud of the dark side, it was difficult to tell if they were still looking for him, or to sense anything at all.

_The dark side clouds everything._

Yoda trudged out of the twisted mouth of the cave, and stepped onto the hard, cool mud outside. He sighed in relief as he gazed upon the swamplands. There was no sunshine on Dagobah, but getting out into the open air made him feel as though he had stepped into paradise.

His gaze fell upon his home and the good feeling left him. The roof had been sliced off—clearly with a lightsaber—and vegetation had grown through the center of the hut and begun covering the outer walls.

He shook his head. _More work to be done, before a rest I can take._

As Yoda made his way over to the hut, he remembered the glimmer of light that had penetrated the darkness of the cave. He smiled, knowing he would have a visitor soon.

Young Skywalker was coming.

_**THE END.**_


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